The land before Wang Lin was a spectacle of crackling energy, a raw canvas painted with the fury of the heavens. The very air thrummed with a potent force, a sensation that resonated deep within his nascent soul. No verdant life dared sprout here, for the intensity of the celestial fire was a natural barrier, a divine edict against mortal existence.

It was a testament to creation’s capricious nature that this realm of pure energy lay hidden beneath a veil of shattered stone, a secret whispered only to the sensitive tendrils of Wang Lin’s soul. Without the unique resonance he felt within, this place would have remained forever veiled.

Though devoid of outward life, the ground pulsed with an undercurrent of raw potential, an untamed life force that rivaled the verdant energy of a thriving cultivation star. Yet, spiritual essence, the lifeblood of cultivators, was absent. The volatile storm of lightning consumed all, dissolving any hint of gentler energies in its insatiable hunger.

The sky itself was a tapestry of fury, a constant cascade of celestial wrath raining down upon the land. Each thunderous strike was greedily devoured by the earth, transforming into rivulets of silver lightning that snaked and pulsed across the scarred surface, turning the very ground into a living thunder pool.

A strange light flickered in Wang Lin’s eyes, for he recognized the perfection of this place.

“Here, the arcane arts of the Thunder Celestial Envoys will surely be amplified tenfold!” he declared, his spiritual form descending upon the electrified earth. His essence plunged into the living pool, and waves of raw energy washed over him, anointing him in pure, unadulterated power.

Even the shattered bone of Wang Yue, the ancient moon-beast, throbbed with newfound energy, bathed in the omnipresent lightning.

With a flex of his will, Wang Lin cast the bone to the ground. It landed with the force of a mountain range collapsing, a deafening echo that reverberated across the desolate landscape. The impact sent tremors through the planet, ripples spreading outwards like those from a stone cast into a placid lake. But here, the stone was Wang Yue’s bone, and the ripples were bolts of pure, crackling energy, multiplying the already overwhelming power by an immeasurable degree. The very air crackled with an untamed electricity, drowning the world in a symphony of thunder.

This place was more potent than before. The booming roars were constant, timeless, echoing from a forgotten age. Wang Lin’s spiritual form settled into a meditative pose, the fragmented echo of the Primordial Thunder Dragon within him stirring. A thin, serpentine thread of energy, a mere vestige of the ancient beast, writhed within his soul.

He formed a complex hand seal, his fingers a conduit for the raw power swirling around him. Lightning danced in his eyes as he inhaled, drawing the raging thunder pool into his very being. The land erupted with chaotic energy, crackling sparks flying in every direction. Each individual spark was potent enough to send even the most seasoned cultivator of the First Step fleeing in terror, for they embodied the untamed wrath of the heavens.

Wang Lin closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the embrace of the storm. Bolts of raw energy surged through his spiritual form, cleansing and invigorating. He was enveloped by a sphere of condensed lightning, a fortress of pure power.

Lost to the passage of time, Wang Lin’s soul merged with the tempest, and a palpable aura of ancient might slowly radiated outwards, drawn into the heart of his spiritual essence.

From afar, the thunder-scarred world appeared unchanged, save for a slight quickening in the celestial storm. His sentinel, a being of enchanted metal, sat in silent vigil upon a nearby asteroid, its senses stretched outwards. Though seemingly lost in meditation, the sentinel remained ever watchful, poised to defend its master from any unforeseen peril.

Loyalty was the most vital component etched into the sentinel’s creation by the celestial emperor Qing Lin.

A decade slipped by unnoticed. Even the thunder-scarred world, the very land where Wang Lin was, seemed only to have less light than before, and no other changes.

For a decade the sentinel neither stirred nor stopped watching, as if this duty of the long, lonely years was its entire meaning, its whole existence, and its only way of one day earning freedom.

Within the heart of the lightning-ravaged world, a colossal sphere of condensed energy continued to grow, drawing down bolts of celestial fire from the heavens. The very lightning in the sky seemed drawn to it, arcing and twisting across the void.

Within this orb, Wang Lin’s spiritual form was being reforged, his wounds mending under the ceaseless bombardment of raw energy. The thunderous storm was a living elixir, the most potent medicine in existence. As he absorbed its essence, his spirit gradually regained its strength.

Finally, after a decade, Wang Lin’s nascent soul opened its eyes, and within them, a storm brewed. The sphere of pure lightning that had enveloped him shattered, releasing a wave of pure energy in a ring of raw power.

But even as it expanded, Wang Lin inhaled, and the wave was sucked back into him. The circle stopped its expansion, and as if time was reversed, it shrunk and rushed at Wang Lin, and was sucked into his mouth.

Now, he was a being forged in the fires of the sky, a living embodiment of the storm. Arcs of lightning danced across his form, creating a shifting armor of pure energy. His hair billowed around him, though there was no wind, each strand crackling with power.

“Without this place, it would have taken much longer to restore my soul!” Wang Lin declared, gazing at the heavens.

“But now the urgent task is to restore my flesh! Rebuilding a mortal shell is a feat beyond the grasp of most cultivators. The secrets of the Ancient Gods are needed, now.” A dark light flashed in Wang Lin’s eyes.

His mortal form had once been shattered, and only the power of the Ancient Gods had allowed him to return.

“The Ancient God’s arts are mostly used by my true body, but I can use them to make a true body.” Wang Lin’s eyes gleamed. Then, he held out his arms and made a sacred sign of power. It was something he saw once in the mind of the Ancient God Tusi.

A wave of ancient power poured from his hands. It covered all the land, and lightning was mixed in too.

Wang Lin slowly put his hands on the ground on both sides of him. He said a few ancient words that were hard to understand. Strange lights came out of his eyes.

“Behold, the flesh!” Wang Lin finished.
The Great Thunder Pool, in this fleeting moment, transformed as if into a true body of water. From a slow trickle, it escalated into a raging torrent, converging with mad speed upon Wang Lin from all directions.

Guided by Wang Lin’s hands pressed against the earth, the lightning within the pool drilled into him with blinding swiftness. Yet, it did not disperse into the depths of his soul, but instead gathered entirely within his palms and forearms.

Gradually, a prickling numbness emanated from Wang Lin’s hands, a sensation only known to those with flesh and blood. He did not look down, but remained steadfast, eyes closed in solemn concentration, unwavering as a mountain.

As torrents of lightning surged within, as if to drain the land of all its thunder, a sight could be seen from above: the terrestrial radiance visibly waning, coalescing upon Wang Lin.

Flashes of blinding light erupted, and Wang Lin’s hands became like those of some unseen master of celestial storms, capable of subjugating thunder with a mere flick of the wrist.

His hands, now absorbing unfathomable power, began to solidify. Glimmering motes of lightning manifested upon their surface, shimmering like stardust.

These orbs, feeding upon the Great Thunder Pool, grew in number, until they formed a dense constellation. A strange power seemed to bind them, drawing them ever closer, coalescing into the shape of skeletal hands.

This hand-skeleton, formed entirely of radiant points, pulsed with potent thunder.

Time flowed like a river. Lightning from the Great Thunder Pool thrashed and churned like a tempestuous sea. The crystalline points in Wang Lin’s hands reached their zenith, and at last, upon his spiritual hands, a complete skeletal form emerged.

Had any mortal beheld Wang Lin at that moment, they would have gasped in awe and terror, for the scene was deeply strange. Save for his hands, he remained translucent, spectral. Only his hands were fully formed, bone of bone.

Wang Lin’s absorption continued. As the lightning persisted, more crystalline points were drawn into his bony hands, slowly creeping up his arms.

Gradually, the bones of his arms began to materialize. Time flowed as Wang Lin remained enmeshed in his craft. When the earth yielded its last spark, the skeletal frame was complete.

His body slowly rose from the ground, and as he hung suspended in the air, bolts of lightning, as if finding their lost vessel, converged upon him in a furious tempest. Crashing peals echoed as thick tendrils of lightning slammed into his frame. Scarlet and azure lines traced themselves upon the surface of his bones, snaking across his entire form.

In that instant, Wang Lin unfurled his spiritual senses, engulfing the entire Thunder-Light Planet. The thunderous essence within his soul now became the master of every storm that raged upon the surface.

“Draw!” With this single word, wrought from spiritual might, the Thunder-Light Planet shuddered. Infinite lightning was ripped from its core, and a vast surge of energy erupted, all drawn relentlessly towards Wang Lin.

This act birthed a tempest of thunder, fracturing the earth and threatening to shatter the very sky. Even the Celestial Guardian, stationed beyond the planet, opened its eyes, its gaze fixed upon the unfolding spectacle.

All the thunder of the Thunder-Light Planet now pulsed within Wang Lin. Flesh and blood began to coalesce, forged anew. His entire being radiated lightning, becoming intrinsically bound to the planet itself.

From the chaotic energy, he drew a deep reservoir of vitality, a vital essence to weave his new form.

Time passed, and counting the previous healing of his soul, sixty years flew by.

This star, which once resembled a living hell of thunder, had seemed to live and die within those sixty years. Its luminescence waned, and the Celestial Guardian was able to enter, standing guard a short distance from Wang Lin.

The lightning, the vitality, all had flowed into a cocoon, three fathoms in length.

Then, on this day, the cocoon burst!