Within the spectral lands of the Demonspirit Realm lie ten shires, each a prison for an Ancient Daemon Spirit. These beings, born of the very essence of creation, wield powers beyond mortal comprehension. Should a cultivator merge with such a spirit, their strength would swell to unimaginable heights, granting access to arcane arts of immense potency. The scrolls of Luo Yun whisper that each Ancient Daemon Spirit is a treasure beyond compare, holding the potential to unlock a state of being known as the Genesis of Divinity.

“The Genesis of Divinity,” the texts claim, “is a state most wondrous, where the flow of celestial understanding rushes into the soul. But this is not all! The true allure, the spark that sets a thousand hearts ablaze, is the chance to forge one’s own Immortal Arts, born of personal vision and will!”

Whispers echo of bygone eras, where the legendary Immortal Arts of the Celestial Realm were first conjured within this very state, birthed from the minds of ascendant beings.

Wang Lin, soaring through the skies, his eyes shone with newfound understanding. Luo Yun’s memories, now his own, painted a vivid picture of the Demonspirit Realm.

Yet, obtaining an Ancient Daemon Spirit is no easy feat. Millennia have passed, with the realm opening its gates each hundred years. But the tales say less than a score of mortals have ever successfully bonded with such a being.

There is but one path: War Merit.

Each shire safeguards a single Ancient Daemon Spirit, untamed and beyond control. These spirits are living embodiments of their respective shires. They evolve once every ten millennia, and if claimed prematurely, a new spirit will not arise for a hundred decades.

The nine shires harbor spirits of varying power. The Daemonheaven Shire, for example, cradles a young spirit, barely a million years old, making it the weakest of its kind.

But in the Shire of Nine Absolutes resides a spirit that has never known the touch of a mortal. Its power, forged over countless ages, defies imagination.

Only those forged in battle, stained with the blood of countless foes, may dare to kneel before an Ancient Daemon Spirit. Only a demonic paragon, a being who has carved a swathe of carnage through the heavens, stands a chance to claim such a prize.

Strangely, the natives of the Demonspirit Realm, no matter their valor or bloodshed, may only pay homage. The spirits will only merge with outsiders, for reasons lost to time. Furthermore, demonic energy is the linchpin of this merging. Without enough, even the chance to bond will be denied.

Thus, every hundred years, the arrival of outsiders heralds a storm of blood and strife. They must slay, for with each fallen foe, they devour the collected demonic energy, thinning the ranks of their rivals.

Wang Lin’s eyes narrowed, lost in contemplation. He sped onward toward the location of the main spirit fragment, a shooting star against the celestial canvas.

“Luo Yun’s understanding stems from a member of the Heavenly Ghost Sect who entered this realm millennia ago,” Wang Lin mused. “Though they failed to claim a spirit, they survived the trials and emerged from this place.

“Upon their return, they painstakingly recorded their experiences, granting Luo Yun this knowledge… which now benefits me!

“According to Luo Yun’s plans, drawn from his ancestor’s experiences, one must swiftly align with a shire to amass War Merit. This is paramount, for War Merit brings not just favor, but also commands over demonic soldiers and generals, a powerful advantage in these initial stages!”

“The Daemonheaven Shire is nearest,” Wang Lin recalled. “Luo Yun had already procured a talisman granting entry to the Left Wing General’s Guard within Daemonheaven City, but three ‘Jia’ of demonic energy are required! Here, demonic energy is measured in Jia, with three Jia equaling the total spiritual energy of a Foundation Establishment cultivator!” Wang Lin’s gaze shifted to the demonic crystal in his hand, taken from Luo Yun’s core. “This contains two Jia.”

“No wonder Luo Yun sought my demise,” he chuckled. “The crystal I absorbed from the valley contained one Jia, completing the necessary three!”

“But now, it serves my purpose!” Wang Lin laughed coldly, his speed unyielding. He sensed the location of the main spirit fragment drawing near.

He transformed into a streak of emerald, vanishing into the distance. But then, a sudden realization struck him, and he abruptly materialized from his ethereal form. His eyes became sharp, his brow furrowed.

“Wait… Luo Yun’s memories spoke of the Genesis of Divinity, the state one might enter after merging with a spirit. Genesis of Divinity… Genesis… the beginning…” Wang Lin froze mid-air, his eyes blazing with an otherworldly luminescence, as bright as a thousand suns.

“The Beginning Realm! Could it be the Beginning Realm itself?” Wang Lin gasped, his eyes burning brighter. “Extremity, Dao, Beginning!” His heart thundered in his chest.

Having achieved the Extremity Realm, Wang Lin had sought every scrap of knowledge about it. His greatest find was within the Devilish Sea of Vermilion Bird, within an ancient dwelling, filled with ancient tomes detailing everything on the Extremity.

Alongside the Extremity Realm, he inevitably encountered the other two realms that share its legendary status:

The Dao Realm, and the Beginning Realm!

Wang Lin’s eyes shimmered, lost in thought.
From the wellspring of the Divine flowed three realms of eternal spiritual power. Yet the Zenith, the uttermost peak, could twist its essence and become a manifestation of Divine Sense. Surely then, the other two realms held similar secrets. Could the very origin of the Divine be but the Primal Realm, transmuted and reflected upon the mirror of the Divine Sense?

“If the Zenith is the stillness of death,” mused Wang Lin, “then the Primal is surely the burgeoning of life. And if such life could bloom within the Divine Sense, it would grant an endless spring, a boundless creation!”

“I tread the path of Samsara, the endless wheel of life and death. If I could but bind the Zenith with the Primal, seizing the death of the former and the life of the latter, would the Dao of Rebirth then reach its apotheosis…?”

Yet Wang Lin shook his head, a bitter smile gracing his lips. Such musings were but fanciful dreams, too distant from the shores of reality.

He sighed softly, banishing the thoughts. Whether the nature of the Divine’s genesis mirrored his conjectures mattered little; for now, it was beyond his grasp.

With a fluid motion, Wang Lin vanished from his spot, traversing ten thousand leagues in a single stride.

Upon a desolate plain, he materialized, only to be greeted by spectral figures swirling around him like mournful phantoms, their forms barely held together by ethereal threads. A phosphorescent beast, a warped hound of the underworld, howled its challenge.

Wang Lin’s Divine Sense swept the area, his gaze settling upon a jagged fissure that scarred the earth. A hundred feet in length, it resembled a wound inflicted by a celestial blade, though the passage of ages had begun to heal the gash, leaving a mere ten feet of gaping darkness. Wild grasses clung to its edges, obscuring the abyss from casual view.

With a single breath, Wang Lin drew the spectral figures into himself, each dissolving into black smoke that spiraled into his mouth, joining the myriad souls within the Soul Banner of his Nascent Divinity.

Now alone, he descended to the earth, his eyes narrowed as he studied the fissure.

“A Sky-Ghoul,” he murmured, recalling fragments of memory from the slain Luo Yun. “A unique creation of the Sky-Ghoul Sect. Born of the void, these creatures are formless, yet the sect’s practitioners summon them with the blood of pregnant mortals, the life essence of virile men, and the shattered souls of cultivators. After forty-nine years of ritual, they can draw down a Sky-Ghoul and bind it as their own spectral familiar.”

“Luo Yun, a favored son of the Sky-Ghoul Sect, was gifted this ghoul by his master, one of the weaker among his nine bonded familiars. Luo Yun’s control was still nascent, hence the ghoul’s treachery.”

A cold light gleamed in Wang Lin’s eyes. With a flick of his wrist, two streams of grey mist danced between his fingers, like restless spirits eager to be unleashed. He flicked his wrist, sending the swirling tendrils hurtling towards the ravine.

The grey mist, like raging dragons, plunged into the darkness, its tendrils thrashing. The Sky-Ghoul, hidden within the depths, sensed the encroaching danger. Betrayal had weakened it, severing the life-blood connection to its former master. But its weakness was temporary. If it could endure for seven days, it could exist without sustenance. If it survived forty-nine, it would fully recover, becoming a creature of pure shadow, free to roam the world.

It had been lurking within the ravine, its eyes snapping open as it lunged towards one of the grey mists.

But as it struck, the mist dissolved, scattering into countless grey motes that spread like a deadly bloom. The ghoul recoiled, but it was too late.

The fragmented mist coalesced, its center point the very essence of the Sky-Ghoul.

In an instant, the ghoul was engulfed in a shroud of grey light. It roared in defiance, desperately retreating.

But the other stream of mist crashed forward, exploding into a similar cloud of particles before the ghoul.

It, too, reformed, drawing itself around the struggling creature.

In the blink of an eye, the Sky-Ghoul was imprisoned, its body writhing within a cage of swirling grey light.