As a thunderous roar echoed, Wang Lin became a streak of lightning, hurtling towards the crater blasted into the earth. Swift as the wind, he neared the abyss. Then, from the depths of the pit, a bestial bellow of rage resounded, shaking the very foundations of the world.

With the roar came a blinding surge of golden light, yet its radiance was tarnished, tinged with an almost violet hue, betraying its impure nature. As it pulsed from the crater, it unleashed a wave of power that threatened to tear the sky asunder.

It was as if a tempest of destruction had been unleashed within the pit, its fury funneled through the crater’s maw. Wang Lin arrived just as the tainted gold erupted, a gale of power buffeting him. His long hair and robes whipped wildly, threatening to tear his essence asunder and scatter his spirit to the void.

“You dare strike at me? You profane the might of the immortals! You *must* die!” The roar was laced with incandescent fury. Amidst the shimmering gold, a withered figure clawed its way out of the abyss, a blurred silhouette wreathed in harsh, impure light.

Wang Lin scoffed. He had shattered the Heavenly Tribulation, transcended the Empty Gate, and stood now at the pinnacle of the Empyrean realm. Even an immortal of middling power would be no match for him.

The moment the wizened shape emerged, Wang Lin took a single stride forward. He raised his right hand, and with a casual gesture, seized the empty air before him. As he did, the heavens themselves recoiled, and the laws of reality twisted and groaned under the weight of his will. It was as though the very fabric of existence had become clay in his hands, bending to the whim of his divine intent.

The gaunt figure struggled, yet its efforts were futile. With a shriek of raw terror, the frail body was ensnared in Wang Lin’s grasp, his hand locked tight around its neck.

The withered form convulsed, a cacophony of cracking sounds echoing through the air as if it was about to crumble into dust. Yet, instead of disintegration, only a spray of crimson mist erupted.

Wang Lin frowned. The wizened being before him appeared as an unremarkable old man, possessing nothing of particular note save for the tainted blood of immortals coursing through his veins. He seemed frail, yet possessed an unexpected resilience.

“You, mortal of this lower realm, dare to lay hands upon an immortal?” the old man rasped. “Release me at once! Do not believe your power knows no bounds. Were it not for the ancient wounds I bear, I would crush you like an ant…” Arrogance dripped from his every word, a relic of a time when he looked down upon the so-called “lower realms”.

Wang Lin’s expression remained impassive, yet a flicker of cold fury ignited in his eyes at the old man’s words. He hurled the captive towards the heavens, then wove a hand seal. With a downward thrust, he unleashed a palm strike towards the floating elder.

The sky thundered and the heavens themselves shifted. From Wang Lin’s hand, a colossal palm print materialized, drawing upon the power of the universe, swelling to unimaginable size. It screamed upwards from the earth, an earth-shattering force of pure destruction.

It seemed as if the heavens themselves were to be shattered, a gaping hole torn in the firmament. The wizened elder’s face contorted in disbelief, a pained wail escaping his lips as he desperately tried to evade the blow. But it was in vain. The gargantuan palm descended, a blinding strike that tore through his very essence.

The elder coughed blood, his body spasming violently. His left arm shuddered and then shattered, flesh and bone dissolving into the ether. Terror etched itself across his face. His mind struggled to comprehend what was happening. He recalled that after the great battle he was severely injured, and ultimately chose to enter an eight-and-a-half star ancient god’s body to heal and survive. Over the years, his injuries were nearly recovered and he realized that the ancient god’s embryo he chose to parasitize was destroyed, and under anger, he woke up and recognized that Wang Lin was not an immortal, but an ant born in the cave world.

Such mortals he would casually dispose of, and vent his anger upon. Fueled by these ingrained prejudices, he lashed out in anger, only to be met with a force that sent a chilling tremor through his soul. He had been seized and hurled to the ground with brutal force.

The fall was agonizing, but he still couldn’t grasp reality, but became even more angry, until Wang Lin pinched his neck, and with a palm blast his left arm, he was frightened. It was then he finally woke up, and realized that the person in front of him was different from the lower realm ants in his memory who would kneel and worship immortals!

“A Renegade! You are a renegade from the lower realm!” The old man’s voice was filled with disbelief as he stumbled backward.

Wang Lin’s expression remained unchanged. With a flick of his sleeve, he closed the distance, appearing behind the wizened figure in a single stride. He raised his right hand and struck the elder’s back.

With a sickening crack, the old man screamed, blood gushing from his mouth. He staggered, his face ashen, his eyes wide with petrified fear.

“Impossible! The Immortals set the Heavenly Tribulation to prevent renegades from appearing. With the Tribulation in place, a third-step renegade is impossible! Such a thing could never be!”

“Not even the most powerful cultivators on the Immortal Astral Continent have spoken of a third-step renegade emerging from the lower realms! This is impossible!” The old man wiped the blood from his lips, and with a bitter smile, he spun around, his eyes burning with manic intensity. He was an immortal, and he possessed the means to survive even in the face of despair. He had weathered the great wars of ages past, and only the strong survived such ordeals!

His hands weaved a complex seal, and he bit the tip of his tongue, spitting forth a mouthful of golden blood. But in that instant, Wang Lin’s eyes blazed with power. Unhurried, unyielding, he raised his hand and pointed a finger at the elder.

“Freeze!”

The old man’s body locked up. The blood hung suspended in the air before him, frozen in place. His very being was paralyzed, robbed of all motion. Even the flow of time, the rotation of the heavens, seemed to have ceased in that single moment.

But the old man was an immortal, and even in paralysis, his mind reeled, a wave of cosmic horror crashing through his soul.

“The Celestial Sealing Art! This is the Great Art of the Immortal Venerate! How does he know it? Who taught him such a skill?”

His thoughts stilled under the power of the Celestial Sealing Art. Wang Lin, his face calm, stepped before the frozen elder. He gazed into the man’s petrified expression, then raised his hand, placing it upon the immortal’s crown.

“Let me see, what truly happened here, so long ago!”