“ROAR!”

A primal bellow ripped from the throat of the Venerable Nether, echoing through the frozen depths. With a groaning shriek of ice fracturing, his colossal form rose from the frigid pool. He tossed his head, and a torrent of raven hair, impossibly long, cascaded down, a shadowy river spilling across the frosted surface, far exceeding the length of his own body.

His gaze, burning with lunatic fury, snapped to lock upon Wang Lin, radiating an aura of murderous intent.

The sudden awakening stunned the Imperial Advisor, but before a word could escape his lips, Wang Lin, with a swiftness born of battle, retracted the foot he had placed upon the ice as the Nether awoke. His eyes, cold and sharp as winter winds, flickered to the Advisor even as he retreated.

“You dared deceive me!”

“This…,” the Advisor stammered, about to offer some explanation, but the Venerable Nether unleashed another earth-shattering roar that reverberated through the underground palace. Like a beast unleashed, the Nether lunged at Wang Lin, a guttural growl rumbling from his throat.

“Grant me a reasonable explanation, or our bargain is void!” Wang Lin’s face was a mask of stormy fury. Undaunted by the charging behemoth, he raised a hand and swept it forward in a decisive arc.

From within his very being surged forth the essence of slaughter and annihilation, coalescing into a swirling vortex of black cloud that hurtled towards the Nether. But as it drew near, the maddened Venerable, with a shriek, raised his left hand. Nine ethereal rings of azure light manifested, spiraling around his fingers. They expanded with alarming speed, hurtling towards the onrushing darkness.

A cataclysmic boom reverberated as the rings collided with Wang Lin’s shadowy magic. Each azure circle pulsed with a power of pure, unadulterated Fire Essence, igniting with a ferocious blaze that buffeted the encroaching darkness.

Upon the altar, the Imperial Advisor watched with narrowed eyes, a web of thoughts spinning in his mind. He suspected Wang Lin’s involvement, but he could not be certain. Perhaps the mere presence of Wang Lin had spurred the Nether to awaken prematurely.

His hand rose, and from his palm materialized a miniature figure of pristine white, poised to offer its divine assistance. But even as the Advisor sought to unravel the mystery, the Venerable Nether, battered by the clash of azure rings and shadowy might, was flung backward, hurtling towards the altar.

Wang Lin, too, stumbled back, retreating several paces before his head snapped up. His gaze, fixed upon the Nether hurtling toward the Advisor, burned with murderous intent. With a single step, he surged forward. The dark cloak he wore erupted, dissolving into a swirling cloud of black mist that engulfed him entirely. He became a wraith of shadow, rushing toward the altar where the chained lunatic awaited.

“Slay him, or bind him, and our transaction may yet continue!” Wang Lin’s voice, disembodied and echoing from the heart of the black mist, filled the chamber. Simultaneously, the blood that Wang Lin had sworn upon, previously suspended before the Advisor, exploded in a crimson shower. The viscous liquid formed a miasma, clinging to the air and enveloping the Advisor.

The sudden burst of bloody vapor radiated Wang Lin’s unique essence. So potent was the aura that it could deceive even the keenest senses.

And Wang Lin, his hair now black as midnight, had merged entirely with the swirling mist, concealing his very breath. The crazed Nether, careening backward, sensed the familiar, hated scent emanating from the Advisor, laced within the blood-soaked air.

Without hesitation, the Nether changed its trajectory, its eyes blazing with red rage. With a guttural roar, it lunged at the Advisor.

The onslaught of the Nether, accompanied by a piercing shriek, shattered the Advisor’s concentration. He looked up as the blood-mist writhed around him, his suspicion now a certainty. His eyes gleaming with malice, he gestured. The miniature figure in his palm shot forth, expanding into a life-sized representation of himself, its finger stabbing toward the onrushing Nether.

From the very beginning, Wang Lin had placed no trust in the Advisor’s words. His parley had merely been a ploy, a means to find a path to rescue the captive lunatic. The Advisor’s magic was strange and formidable, and if he were to intervene, Wang Lin would lack the strength to act.

Thus, he had drawn the Advisor into conversation, carefully assessing that the Nether had indeed lost its sanity. Then, under the very nose of his adversary, he infused his sworn blood with his own essence. He did not fear detection. After all, an oath inherently carried the essence of its swearer.

As time trickled by, and the Advisor revealed his anxiety, Wang Lin exchanged a feigned agreement for the blood, casting it towards the Advisor’s side. The Advisor, consumed by impatience and the wear of time, had not anticipated trickery within the blood. His mind had been diverted by the false promise of Wang Lin’s assent.

Unseen, Wang Lin had orchestrated this moment. Now, as the Nether was roused, the stage was set.

He had no interest in ancient legacies, nor in the lifting of curses plaguing the Advisor’s lineage. In this moment, he was consumed by the dark magic that flowed through his raven locks, a being of annihilation and slaughter.

He had but a single, burning obsession, born from the transition of his white hair to black: to rescue the lunatic!

His form, now a swirling vortex of black mist, surged toward the altar as the Advisor was forced to confront the Venerable Nether. Reaching the nine chains that bound the captive, the mist enveloped the area, poised to free him. But at that instant, a blinding golden light erupted from the lunatic, an echo of the power radiating from the Ancestral Statue in the royal palace.

Under the golden light, a force struck Wang Lin’s very soul, an energy so potent that not even his killing intent could hope to extinguish it. It blasted outward, and where it touched the swirling mist, the darkness recoiled, dissolving into wisps of shadow. Wang Lin was forced back into his human form, his black hair shimmering in the golden light.

Black tendrils of miasma writhed around him, vanishing with a sizzling sound. A searing pain radiated through his very being, preventing him from drawing near the captive.

He staggered backward. The golden light washed over him, and in a matter of moments, his dark hair faded, replaced by the stark white of his former self.
A surge of power, radiant and blinding, wrenched Wang Lin back from the brink of oblivion, forcing his raven locks to revert to their stark white. Though the encroaching darkness receded, the celestial light still rejected him, a golden tide crashing within and spilling forth in a gout of crimson. Wang Lin’s pupils constricted, his form recoiling as he gazed, wide-eyed with shock, upon the madman and the iron chains that bound him.

“The Ancestral Bloodline…!” he breathed, his thoughts a whirlwind. “Was the Celestial Emperor’s chosen champion truly Daoist Ming, or his brother, the treacherous Lian Dao Fei?”

Even as Wang Lin retreated, the Imperial Tutor, standing atop the crumbling altar, plunged a finger towards Daoist Ming, sending the man staggering backward. But the fallen Daoist, with a tortured roar, cast his gaze heavenward. His flesh began to rot and peel away at an alarming rate, wounds erupting across his form, each one a source of blinding golden light. The aura enveloped him, unleashing a force no less potent than that which had restored Wang Lin’s white hair.

Doubt gnawed at Wang Lin. He could no longer discern, with any certainty, whether the madman or Daoist Ming was the true heir to the Celestial Emperor’s favor.

“Wang Lin! You touched the chains! The Celestial Emperor is aware, and he comes! Join forces with me now to suppress Daoist Ming. I will weave a spell to transfer his ancestral power to you!” The Imperial Tutor’s face was ashen, his life force ebbing now that the crystal was lost. His words were frantic, seemingly unconcerned by Wang Lin’s past manipulations.

Daoist Ming, now bathed in celestial radiance, continued to decompose. The rotting flesh fell away, revealing the horror beneath. His eyes, clouded with madness, locked onto Wang Lin, and he charged with a bestial roar.

He wielded no spells, no incantations. The golden light radiating from his form was weapon enough. He was a sun hurtling toward oblivion, threatening to consume all in its wake.

Wang Lin, his face a mask of grim determination, fell back, conjuring forth his Soul Armor. With hands flashing in intricate patterns, he unleashed his full power, drawing upon the very essence of his physical being. He channeled the lingering darkness of the Crimson Night through his left hand, and with his right, executed the ancient, heretical arts of the Gu Dao – a palm, a finger, a fist, a torrent of power aimed at the onrushing Daoist Ming.

Simultaneously, the Imperial Tutor leaped from the altar, defying its power for the first time. In his open palm, nine wisps of white light materialized, swelling into phantoms of men, each forming a finger of celestial energy that shot toward Daoist Ming!

The ensuing explosion was deafening. Before Wang Lin could discern the outcome, a furious roar echoed through the chamber, a sound both muffled and immense, as if originating beyond the very walls of the underground palace. The entire structure shuddered, the ceiling above collapsing inward. A colossal, golden hand, tearing through space and the void, descended from the heavens, cleaving through the heart of the Imperial Palace, a divine judgment made manifest.

“Shang Xuan Dao! You dare betray the covenant!”

The golden hand pulsed with the destructive power of a Great Celestial, a force amplified by the golden light it absorbed from both Daoist Ming and the madman. Its descent threatened to crush the very foundations of the palace.

The Imperial Tutor paled, his face contorted in abject terror. He screamed, “Wang Lin! Into the pool!” Those were his last words before he vanished toward the pool below.

Hesitation flickered across Wang Lin’s face, but with a gritted snarl, he plunged into the waters. As he sank beneath the surface, the Imperial Tutor, through some arcane art, caused the pool to erupt in a swirling vortex, which suddenly collapsed inward, revealing another chamber hidden below.

Above, the sky was the color of blood, mirroring the hue of the pool. It cracked and writhed with crimson energy as Wang Lin and the Imperial Tutor plummeted downwards. The descending golden hand and the tormented form of Daoist Ming followed close behind.

Below them lay a landscape dominated by six bizarre mountains. One of these mountains was a colossal head, carved in grotesque detail, its face twisted in a perpetual, agonizing scream towards the heavens. It was the face of the Celestial Ancestor himself!

A head made mountain!