The moment Wang Lin uttered those words, the hundreds of heads behind him, their eyes previously dimmed, exploded with an eerie, collective light. Simultaneously, a chorus of tormented screams erupted, a sonic storm of anguish tearing through the very air.

Each cry, laden with unfathomable suffering, burrowed into the ears, enough to shatter the sanity of the timid and leave even the bold pale and shaken.

One could scarcely imagine the agony required to elicit such sounds. With each wail, black blood wept from the seven orifices of those severed heads, a viscous tide spreading a choking miasma of death.

Within each skull lay imprisoned the souls and fragmented spirits of the slain. Their mortal forms had perished, yet their heads remained, trapped in a nightmarish cycle of causality, existence, illusion, and reincarnation.

Imbued within them were the three primal Essences of Wang Lin’s Void, which permeated their existence, drawing them into a waking dream, forced to relive the most horrific moments of their lives, whether real or imagined.

This endless torment, fueled by the Essences of the Void, was not mere cruelty on Wang Lin’s part. It was the initial, agonizing step of a grand design, a ritual of slaughter.

This beginning hinged on a forbidden formation, born from Wang Lin’s profound understanding of the Three Essences, a synthesis he had never dared to unleash before. Tonight, was the first.

It was an array forged from the very fabric of Essence itself.

Its name, simple yet profound, was the Cycle of Life, Death, Truth, Illusion, and Consequence.

The scene was beyond harrowing, a spectacle of utter despair. Only a hatred reaching the heavens could fuel such a devastating act. Wang Lin’s animosity towards the Extraterrestrial Realm, though present, was not the sole impetus. The revelation that the entire world was but a cosmic prison had ignited a simmering rage within his soul.

This burning resentment, this utter contempt for the architects of fate, for the celestial deities who manipulated the lives of mortals, was the true driving force behind his slaughter. With the Extraterrestrial invaders encroaching, they would become the vessels for Wang Lin’s unleashed fury.

“Too many have perished in this war, and I, Wang Lin, shall not hesitate to add more to the tally! If you crave slaughter, if you seek to achieve your twisted goals through carnage, then I shall assist you! I will see what it is you so desperately seek!”

“The Realm Within has already bled far too much. Now, it is the Extraterrestrial’s turn!” As the agonizing screams echoed in his ears, Wang Lin’s expression remained resolute. He took a single, decisive step towards the Zhaohe Starfield.

The Zhaohe Starfield, twice fallen to the invaders, now teemed with garrisons of Extraterrestrial cultivators from various clans of the Ancient Star Cluster.

Here, the invaders reigned with merciless brutality. Precious resources were plundered, and countless women were forced into becoming living vessels for their dark practices. The blood of countless slain cultivators stained the very stars.

The moment he entered the Zhaohe Starfield, a thick, almost tangible stench of blood assaulted his senses. As he ventured deeper, the murderous intent in Wang Lin’s eyes burned brighter. His sixth Essence, the Essence of Slaughter, erupted from within him, enveloping his form. Around Wang Lin, crimson snowflakes, shimmering between reality and illusion, began to fall.

These crimson flakes blanketed the region, and as Wang Lin advanced, a chilling crackle echoed in his wake. The starfields behind him were instantly encased in frost, bathed in a sinister red light, and radiating a bone-deep, sky-rending cold.

Wang Lin’s eyes now pulsed with a crimson glow. As he forged ahead, his divine sense unfurled, engulfing the entirety of the Zhaohe Starfield. Instantly, from the deepest recesses of the realm, a third-step aura erupted, a force of immense power.

The aura pulsed with shock, clearly caught off guard by the sudden intrusion of Wang Lin’s divine sense. Had this been Wang Lin before his understanding of the Dream Dao, he would have paused, perhaps even retreated. But now, he barely gave it a second glance.

The aura crackled with the might of a third-step, Empyrean Exalted cultivator, yet in Wang Lin’s heart, it was nothing. He had slain even the Great Power of the Void Tribulant realm, an Empyrean Exalted was but a fleeting inconvenience.

Without pause, Wang Lin vanished, ignoring the approaching aura. He reappeared outside a cultivation star, a world teeming with thousands of Extraterrestrial invaders.

Many of these interlopers were deep in meditation, while others reveled in debauchery, forcing themselves upon captive women, indulging in raucous laughter, and torturing hapless mortals. Some even feasted upon the blood and cultivation of the imprisoned cultivators from the Inner Realm.

Each depraved act played out before Wang Lin’s inner eye, a catalog of heinous cruelty.

His eyes narrowed, the red light within them intensified, creating a chilling, demonic visage. Combined with the incessant screams of the hundreds of tormented heads behind him, Wang Lin looked as if he had risen from the very depths of the Yellow Springs.

“These beings deserve to die!” With a flick of his sleeve, Wang Lin extended his right hand, forming an open palm. He pressed it towards the cultivation star, a gesture of ultimate and inevitable doom.

The moment his palm descended, the cultivation star erupted in a deafening roar. With the naked eye, one could witness countless particles of dust erupting, enveloping the planet in a suffocating cloud.

Simultaneously, cries of terror ripped through the atmosphere. The Extraterrestrial cultivators, jolted from their meditations, snapped their eyes open, their faces contorted in horror. They desperately soared into the sky, hoping to discern the source of this cataclysmic event.

But as they emerged into the heavens, they were greeted by a sight of utter devastation. Enormous dust storms raged across the landscape, connecting the earth to the sky, obscuring everything in a maelstrom of apocalyptic chaos.

Furthermore, an oppressive power descended from above, suffocating all in its path. Under this agonizing pressure, many of the Extraterrestrial cultivators coughed up blood, their faces drained, their eyes wide with stark terror.

“What…what power is this?!”

“Who…who dares to trespass here?!”

“Could it be…could it be a Great Power from the Inner Realm? But all the Great Powers are in Luotian! Who could have breached the layers of defenses to reach this place?!”
A wave of chilling dread washed over those wretched souls, the interlopers from beyond the realms, some entwined in profane dual cultivation, others indulging in the sadistic torment of mortal and cultivator alike. In a desperate scramble, they abandoned their foul deeds, fleeing towards the heavens.

But the sky revealed a sight that turned their blood to ice.

There, an immeasurably vast hand blotted out the sun, plunging the land into a premature twilight, as deep as the starless night.

Sunlight, starlight, all luminescence, all the blessed clarity of the celestial spheres was utterly extinguished by the looming hand, drowning the world in a sea of obsidian.

Embedded within the colossal palm was a single, enigmatic sigil, shimmering with an unholy light, flickering between clarity and shadow. To gaze upon it was to invite madness, to feel one’s sanity unravel.

That mark, a gateway formed of countless bleached bones, a skeletal portal stretching into the void – the **Myriad Void Bone Gate**.

Shattered once before, it now resided eternally upon the palm of Wang Lin, a brand of vengeance incarnate.

The thousands of cultivators below, upon witnessing this dreadful sign, felt the hand slowly clench, as if to crush the very world within its grasp. And as it did, a palpable horror seized them. Gossamer threads of essence, like wisps of smoke, escaped uncontrollably from their orifices, spiraling towards the monstrous hand above.

This was the **Seal of Karma**. For a third-step cultivator, possessed of a true Origin, it would draw forth only that Origin, leaving life and death untouched. But for those who had not achieved such heights, the Seal would drain their very souls, their lifeblood, their nascent divinities – everything ethereal and vital within them.

The **Seal of Karma** was a terror to behold, a force that warped the heavens and shifted the very tides of fate. And unleashed now with Wang Lin’s wrathful fury, it became a cataclysm of unparalleled devastation.

As the hand formed a fist, the assembled cultivators, lost in bewildered terror, watched as the gargantuan fist did not fall, but instead, yanked savagely upward. A chorus of agonizing screams erupted, piercing the air, ripping through the very fabric of existence.

Those cries of torment echoed across the entire cultivation star, culminating in a deafening roar as, one by one, the thousands of souls were ripped asunder. Their bodies exploded in showers of blood and bone, their severed heads soaring skyward.

Each skull became a streaking comet, hurtling into the void, gathering behind Wang Lin like trophies of a dark victory.

Outside the shattered world, Wang Lin clenched his own fist. A torrent of vital essence, of shredded souls and ruined spirits, spewed forth from the broken planet, coalescing within his grasp. With a flick of his wrist, he banished the thousands of tormented souls back into their severed heads, imprisoning them within a cycle of life and death, truth and illusion, cause and consequence.

A cacophony of shrieks, the collective agony of a thousand decapitated heads, reverberated through the cold emptiness of space.

“A mere few thousand… still not enough,” Wang Lin muttered, his voice a low growl. He turned towards another cultivation star, one he had glimpsed through the unwavering gaze of his divine sense, and stepped into the void.

Deep within the Zhao He Starfield, a third-step powerhouse from beyond the realms stirred. His consciousness, like a gathering storm, focused into a spectral image, and the being himself surged from his lair, locking onto Wang Lin’s aura from across the vast expanse.

Wang Lin had permitted this pursuit, allowing himself to be tracked. Otherwise, this lesser entity would never have been worthy enough to find him.

“Come one, die one. Come all, die all,” Wang Lin snarled, his eyes burning with an unholy fire. His thirst for vengeance remained unslaked. As he moved forward, another cultivation star materialized before him.

This world was a desolate ruin, shrouded in the pall of death. The oppressive aura of demise was palpable, a testament to the countless lives that had once flourished there, now extinguished.

In the ancient tapestry of the Starry Cosmos, there was a race known as the **Netherkin**, who drew their power from death and thrived in the most desolate of places. This star had been gifted to them by the Grand Dignitaries Assembly as a reward for their service in the war.

Though a minor tribe in the ancient cosmos, a vast number of Netherkin had migrated here, establishing their new stronghold upon this wretched world.

Within the oppressive miasma of death, countless bubbles, glowing with an ashen light, drifted lazily. Ensnared within these globes were captured souls from within the realms, mostly women, one of whom was Zhou Zihong.

Her eyes were closed, her face pale and drawn in unconsciousness. But her garments, at least, remained untouched.

Suddenly, the earth trembled, the deathly stillness shattered by a deafening roar. A chasm erupted, spewing forth a dark vortex that snatched three hundred bubbles, dragging them towards its maw. Zhou Zihong was among the doomed captives.

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