Through the cloying mists of death, a sight most foul presented itself. Deep within a chasm rent in the earth, a bald man garbed in violet sat in lotus pose. A great purple robe enveloped his form, and upon his gleaming scalp, ghastly visages of tormented souls writhed momentarily before fading, their silent screams echoing in the unseen ether.

With a languid wave of his hand, three hundred iridescent bubbles surged forth, drawn irresistibly towards him.

The bald man’s eyes snapped open, burning with an unholy light. He fixed his gaze upon the cultivators trapped within those shimmering spheres, his visage twisting into a cruel sneer.

“Only within this Boundary Land does the Kiling tribe find purchase to rise! The more virulent the death, the denser the miasma, and the more plentiful the living souls to consume… Had such slaughter occurred in the Ancient Starry Sky, the Council of Elders would surely have punished me.” A satisfied smile curled his lips as he flicked his sleeve. The three hundred bubbles shattered with a deafening roar.

The disintegration of their prisons left the three hundred celestial maidens of the Zhaohe Sect exposed to the suffocating aura of death. Their faces contorted in agony as their bodies withered and aged before his very eyes.

Essence seeped from their seven orifices, coalescing into ethereal projections that mirrored their mortal forms, resembling nascent souls struggling to break free.

Zhou Zihong, her expression wracked with torment, trembled as her lifeblood flowed away, forming its own spectral echo. With a flicker of the bald man’s malevolent gaze, Zhou Zihong’s ethereal soul, along with the others, lunged towards him.

“冥噬極樂!” (Míng shì jí lè – roughly “Nether Devour, Utmost Bliss!”), the bald man growled, throwing wide his arms. The three hundred souls quickened their descent, a ravenous hunger burning in their spectral eyes as they neared him.

But just as he opened his maw to consume them, a chilling hum reverberated through the very fabric of existence.

The sound struck like a thunderbolt, unleashing a tempest of sonic force that shook the land to its foundations. The bald man reeled, his outstretched arms dissolving into a bloody mire as he coughed forth a stream of crimson. Horror twisted his features as he stumbled backward.

The three hundred souls, their eyes still closed, were jolted awake. Bewildered, they gazed about, their confusion palpable.

“Who dares?! What mighty being has descended upon the lands of the Mínglíng?! This one is the Chieftain of the Mínglíng. If I have inadvertently offended you, I beg forgiveness…” The bald man’s face was ashen, his eyes wide with terror as his heart hammered against his ribs.

A single hum had sundered his arms and delivered a crippling blow to his very core, leaving him teetering on the precipice of annihilation. He, a cultivator of the Fifth Heavenly Tribulation, knew full well he faced a being of unimaginable power! Yet, he could not fathom how he had earned the ire of such a figure.

It never occurred to him that his tormentor could be a cultivator from within the Boundary Lands. He knew that the cultivators were trapped in the Luotian Starfield, surrounded by enemy forces, and doomed to a desperate last stand. It was impossible for one to reach this place.

Before he could finish his desperate plea, his vision was consumed by an incandescent light. His gaze tracked up the chasm, where, through the swirling veils of death, he saw a figure emerge: a man clad in white robes, with hair as white as bone.

His face was etched with a cold fury, and trailing behind him, amidst the deathly mist, were thousands of severed heads. A cacophony of agonizing screams emanated from them, a symphony of torment that sent shivers down the bald man’s spine. He looked upon the white-clad figure, a nagging sense of familiarity gnawing at the edges of his memory.

“You… you are…” The bald man’s mind reeled. A flicker of recognition sparked within him. A name surfaced, and a strangled cry of disbelief escaped his lips. He stumbled backward, issuing a frantic command, “Mínglíng! Flee this star! Flee for your lives!”

Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with glacial fury. With a gesture, he summoned a gargantuan spectral hand that tore through the heavens. In the blink of an eye, it seized the retreating bald man, crushing him with merciless force until his body shattered.

His head, however, remained intact, a prison for his soul and spirit. As Wang Lin retracted his hand, the severed head joined the ranks of the thousands that trailed behind him.

Meanwhile, throughout the star, the aura of Mínglíng tribesmen flared as they heeded their chieftain’s dying command. Without hesitation, they launched themselves skyward, scattering in all directions, desperate to escape.

Wang Lin turned, his gaze as cold as the void. With a flick of his wrist, lightning erupted from his right eye. A single, blinding bolt of celestial energy fractured into countless tendrils of electric death, reaching out in all directions.

Across the desolate landscape, the fragmented lightning found its mark. Each spark a death knell, the electricity crashed into fleeing Kiling tribesmen, incinerating their bodies and wrenching their heads from their shoulders.

The screams of the dying echoed across the wasteland, but Wang Lin paid them no heed. He watched as the three hundred spectral souls remained stunned and he released the spell holding them in place. The souls snapped back to their bodies.

Wang Lin stepped from the chasm, lightning drawn from the ether. As he walked, each spark fed back into Wang Lin’s right eye, as the number of heads following him reached ten thousand.

In a matter of moments, every single member of the Mínglíng tribe was dead, leaving no trace of their foul existence.

Hovering in the air, Wang Lin extended his right hand towards the earth, pressing down with immense force. The infinite miasma that clung to the land writhed and billowed like a sentient ocean, rushing towards Wang Lin.

The corrupting fog gathered in his outstretched hand, forming a spinning orb of pure death.

With the deathly aura purged, the land began to heal. The bubbles that had once plagued the landscape shattered, freeing the Zhaohe Sect disciples trapped within.

Wang Lin turned away from the cleansed earth, grasping the swirling orb of death in his palm. He strode towards the heavens, his hand tight around the orb. When he reached the heavens, he crushed the orb. The orb shattered, unleashing a vortex of pure death that pierced the heavens.

“Since you’ve arrived, you will not leave!” Wang Lin’s voice was devoid of emotion as he gazed at the point where the vortex of death crashed in the sky. Space twisted, and a middle-aged man stepped out.

The middle-aged man wore a Daoist robe, his expression grim. He weaved hand seals, and a shield of tortoiseshell materialized before him. A shield large enough to encompass his entire body as the vortex of death struck the shield.

The shield trembled, and cracks began to spiderweb across its surface, but it did not break. With that, the man and the shield were flung backward.

“Daoist Feng Zun Wang Lin, you yet live!” The man’s eyes widened with shock. He had sensed Wang Lin’s presence, but could not see him. As soon as he saw Wang Lin obliterating thousands of outer cultivators, he knew he must escape. But before he could, Wang Lin forced him into being.

Wang Lin said nothing, his gaze a burning inferno of rage. He lunged towards the man, closing the distance with impossible speed. His fist met the shield with a thunderous impact.

The shield cracked further, and the man’s face drained of color as blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Horror filled his eyes as he retreated.

“You lured me here deliberately! You hid your cultivation base!” The sheer force of the blow made the man realize the full scope of Wang Lin’s terrifying power. All thoughts of conquest vanished. Now, escape was all that mattered.

But Wang Lin had drawn him into this place, and he would not let him escape. He took another step and unleashed another palm strike, this one infused with the power of karma, upon the shield. The shield disintegrated into countless shards, ripped apart at the molecular level. The man followed the shield in its disintegration.

The middle-aged man’s face was pale. He knew he was facing a life-or-death situation. He realized he could not escape. With a fierce bite of his tongue, he decided to fight, and a crimson fissure opened on his brow. The wound revealed a fragment of the land he had merged with: an Incense Realm.

As the Incense Realm opened, Wang Lin pointed his finger.

“Freeze!”

The man froze. As the man was held in place, Wang Lin stepped in and touched the man’s chest with an open palm. With an earth-shattering crack, Wang Lin’s right hand reached for the man’s brow.

With another deafening crack, the man shuddered violently, blood gushing from his orifices. His eyes bulged with terror as he struggled to break free from the spell’s grasp.

But before Wang Lin, the man stood no chance. Wang Lin’s eyes turned cold as he sealed the mind of the helpless man. Then, he removed the man’s head from his shoulders.

Blood sprayed as the body fell apart, while Wang Lin held the head.

“None are Wang’s equal.” Wang Lin turned and walked towards the stars with a head covered in blood.