Wang Lin beheld the maw of the second valley, a desolate expanse laid bare before him. He ventured forth, his gaze sweeping the emptiness, a meticulous appraisal etched upon his face. Moments later, his right hand danced in a mystic gesture, weaving a ward that burst forth in a shower of fourteen sigils, each hurtling towards the valley’s entrance. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, followed their trajectory, only to witness their silent annihilation at the threshold, as if swallowed by an unseen leviathan, leaving not a ripple in their wake.

A flicker of concern tightened Wang Lin’s gaze. He hesitated, then steeling his resolve, his hand moved once more, this time conjuring a veritable constellation of wards. Dozens formed, each mirroring the fourteenfold pattern as they left his grasp. These sigils, woven into the semblance of a plum blossom, drifted towards the entrance, Wang Lin hot on their heels. As they touched the valley’s veil, his brow split, revealing the Crimson Eye. A flash of scarlet pierced the gloom, granting Wang Lin a glimpse of an unseen barrier, a curtain woven from light.

Upon contact, the plum blossom wards rippled, and from their surfaces sprung forth shadowy forms, spectral maws that devoured the sigils whole. With the Eye’s divine sight, Wang Lin saw that the barrier and its shadowy guardians were comprised of near-invisible motes of light.

Instantly, Wang Lin recoiled, tugging the plum blossom wards back with a mental command. The shadowy forms, momentarily taken aback, pursued, lunging for their ethereal prey. As the spectral forms stretched outward, the veil thinned, weakened by their advance. A jolt of pain shot through Wang Lin’s brow, the Eye straining to its limit.

Without hesitation, he surged forward, his speed a blur. He brushed past the encroaching shadow, aiming for the weakened barrier. His right hand shot out, the Qi of Ling Tian coiled like a serpent around his fingertips. With a whispered prayer, his fingers became a living blade, plunging into the shimmering curtain.

The barrier buckled, the luminous motes scattering like startled fireflies, creating a rift in the weave. Wang Lin seized the opportunity, plunging through the opening.

The moment was fleeting. The formless shadow, robbed of its prey, spun back, unleashing a silent roar of fury. The remaining motes of light flocked back to it, bolstering its form as it surged back, giving chase.

A cold dread washed over Wang Lin as if the winds of the Netherworld themselves were nipping at his heels. The Crimson Eye, taxed to its limit, snapped shut. Now within the valley, he was greeted by a sight far removed from the world outside. The ground was a canvas of brown, a vast ossuary littered with countless bones, an army of the dead numbering in the tens of thousands.

Crawling amidst the skeletal remains were grotesque insects, gnawing upon the ancient bone, their mandibles clicking in a macabre symphony.

At the valley’s heart stood a grim centerpiece: eight short swords plunged into the earth, each bearing the same unsettling aura as the blade found in the previous valley, undeniably part of a unified set.

Encircling these blades rested a monstrous skull, adorned with four jagged bone spurs, a potent symbol of dread that radiated an aura of profound unease.

Without pause, Wang Lin charged forward, his hand outstretched towards the skull. But as he drew near, the eight swords erupted in a chorus of ringing steel, taking flight as if animated by an unseen force. With piercing shrieks, they lunged towards Wang Lin.

He was caught in a deadly crossfire, the flying swords before him and the shadow at his back. But in this dire moment, Wang Lin remained calm, his eyes alight with unwavering resolve. As the blades closed in, he extended his right forefinger, uttering a single word: “Immobilize!” This was no mere binding spell, but a decree that defied the mortal realm!

The swords were imbued with a touch of the divine, but the Binding Art was a treasure from the Celestial Realm. Though Wang Lin’s mortal coil held it back, he could still hold them still, even if only for a moment.

In that frozen instant, Wang Lin darted towards the skull. The formless shadow closed in, and the ethereal chill intensified, pressing against his very soul.

This was the moment he had been waiting for. For the Eye could not see the shadow, and his mortal senses were blind to its form. He had to force it to come forth before he could strike.

Wang Lin didn’t turn, but from his brow, the Kun Ji Lash materialized, cracking through the air, a stroke of karmic consequence that caused a stifled groan to echo from the void behind him.

The chilling presence immediately receded. Without hesitation, Wang Lin moved with seamless grace, gathering a ward within his palm. He grasped the skull, sealing it with the ward before stowing it within his storage pouch.

It all happened in a blink. Released from their stasis, the eight swords resumed their assault, hurtling towards Wang Lin with redoubled fury.

Trapped in the confines of the valley, with flight too risky, Wang Lin was forced to fight on the ground. The attacks were relentless, and the shadowy form seemed to possess a cruel intelligence, drawing back its chilling embrace until the last possible moment, making it nearly impossible for Wang Lin to avoid it. Furthermore, it had cut off the exit, trapping Wang Lin within its icy grip.

Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with a cold light. The swords came at him from eight different directions, forming a deadly matrix of intersecting strikes. Their edges pulsed with the same eerie light.

Were that all, Wang Lin might have found a way to escape. But the moment he seized the skull, a malevolent mist rose from the skeletal ground, swirling into grotesque specters that converged upon him.

Adding to the chaos, the bone-gnawing insects, stirred by an unknown catalyst, took to the air, their wings buzzing with an unsettling urgency as they swarmed towards Wang Lin.

Wang Lin felt his very scalp crawl. He was surrounded by a horde of evil, with no escape in sight, and the valley was firmly sealed. His eyes darted about, and suddenly a realization lit up his face.

“All of this evil was not made here, it was dragged from somewhere else. And if that is the case, then even this land has no foundations!” He dodged a volley of short swords, and then ran toward the valley walls.
He uttered a guttural growl, channeling the entirety of his celestial power and the wrath of thunder into his right hand. With a resounding impact that echoed through the valleys, he slammed his palm against the sheer rock face. A cataclysmic tremor ripped through the earth, unleashing an avalanche of stone and a choking cloud of dust that billowed outwards. Ten leagues distant, Li Yuan stood dumbstruck, unable to fathom the unfolding events. He felt the ground buck beneath his feet, and saw the nearby mountain range shedding its skin in a shower of shattered rock.

The celestial guardian, bound to Wang Lin’s will, stepped forward. Without hesitation, it delivered a mighty blow to the mountain’s flank, sending another earth-shattering rumble into the air.

Li Yuan gasped, a chilling realization dawning upon him. Wang Lin’s intentions were becoming terrifyingly clear. He fought back a grim smile, muttering that his friend Xu held ideas that bordered on madness. Alone, Wang Lin could only stir the mountain’s slumber, but with the guardian, anything was possible. The guardian’s flesh was an impenetrable fortress, and a single strike was enough to set the very foundations trembling.

Within the valley, Wang Lin’s eyes burned like crimson embers. Grasping the mountainside, he heaved upwards with all his might. The guardian, bearing the brunt of the strain, braced itself, its hands digging deep into the ancient stone. With a guttural roar, it lifted the mountain a foot, then two!

The very fabric of the storage space shuddered under the immense force. The guardian, now half-submerged beneath the stone, glowed with an ethereal light, bearing the weight on its broad shoulders.

The valley groaned and shifted, causing the eight enchanted daggers to falter in their dance. The swirling emerald mists, abandoning their pursuit of Wang Lin, surged upwards along the exposed mountain face, carrying with them a swarm of hapless insects.

The guardian’s bones creaked and popped with each agonizing movement. Driven to the brink, it unleashed a bellow that shook the heavens and lifted the mountain higher, ever higher.

Every fissure and crack surrendered to the unrelenting pressure. At the apex of its lift, the guardian roared a final command and hurled the mountain downwards. The earth screamed in protest as the storage space threatened to unravel, new fissures spiderwebbing across its surface.

The descending mountain crashed down, crushing the newly formed cracks and sealing them shut. Seizing the opportunity, Wang Lin burst forth from the valley’s mouth. The ethereal shadow that had haunted him vanished without a trace, retreating to some unknown corner.

Gasping for breath, Wang Lin surveyed the scene. Even the third valley, nestled in the distance, was not spared. The arcane wards that protected it flickered erratically, many having succumbed to the cataclysm.

“The immortals who crafted this realm could never have imagined that someone would move mountains to break their enchantments!” Wang Lin chuckled, a grim satisfaction hardening his features. After a moment of respite, he surged towards the third valley, his gaze fixed on the prize within: the ancient god’s hide. The first two had yielded nothing; surely, it awaited him in the last. Li Yuan, the shock receding from his eyes, offered a wry smile and pursued. The guardian, drained of its celestial energy, faded into a spectral form and merged with Wang Lin’s shadow, seeking solace and recuperation.

Side-by-side, Wang Lin and Li Yuan sped towards the third valley, their destination drawing ever closer. Soon, they stood before it.

The once-narrow entrance lay shattered and splayed open, a network of protective enchantments sparking and sputtering. Within, Wang Lin beheld a crumbling shrine.

It was a modest structure, ravaged by time and neglect. Its doors were long gone. Before the shrine lay two skeletons, one clad in the sought-after hide of the ancient god!

The other skeleton was bare, save for the golden sheen emanating from its right-hand fingers, which were embedded deep within the skull of the armored skeleton. The skull’s fragments revealed that the golden fingers had crushed it utterly.

Though the battle itself was lost to time, the scene spoke volumes of the ferocious struggle that had transpired.

With a wave of his hand, Wang Lin summoned the hide from the skeleton, its surface cool to the touch. A wave of mournful anguish washed over him, a lingering echo of the ancient god’s power and sorrow.

The hide was a crude, time-worn creation, imbued with a potent aura that spoke of its former owner’s unmatched strength.

Li Yuan stepped closer to the other skeleton, his eyes fixated on its golden fingers. He inhaled sharply and knelt, carefully extracting each shimmering digit.

Looking up, his gaze drifted to the interior of the doorless shrine, his eyes widening in alarm. “Xu Daoyou, look!” he exclaimed in a hushed voice.

Wang Lin followed his companion’s gaze. His own breath caught in his throat as he slowly approached the entrance. Satisfied that the shrine was safe, he ventured inside, followed closely by Li Yuan. The shrine had two levels. The first was empty, devoid of idols or altars, save for a series of murals adorning the walls!

Nine murals in total. Li Yuan stared at them, dumbfounded.

“What… what are these powers? Such giants… surely this is all a fabrication?” he muttered.

The murals depicted a colossal being, marked with eight star-like points on its brow. Swarms of celestial warriors wielding enchanted weapons encircled the giant, engaged in a desperate struggle.

Beside the giant, the immortals seemed insignificant. The giant’s gaze was cold and distant, and the artist had captured not just the apathy, but the weariness that lurked beneath. Every mural told the same story.

“Eight stars… Ancient God…” Wang Lin murmured thoughtfully. He glanced up at the staircase leading to the second level and sighed. Leaving Li Yuan to stare at the murals in bewildered contemplation, he began his ascent.

Few in this world still remembered the ancient gods…
The second chamber presented a simpler visage. A single, aged desk stood within, draped with a parchment yellowed with time. Beside it lay a scattering of brushes, whispering of a long-departed master’s artistic bent. Not far from the desk, a censer rested, holding nothing but the ashen remnants of incense, its fragrant smoke long dispersed.

Wang Lin approached the desk, his gaze drawn to the parchment held down by a curious implement. This ruler-like object, fashioned of some unknown material, pulsed with a faint, ethereal light, a clear sign of its otherworldly origin. Yet, Wang Lin’s eyes bypassed the artifact, focusing instead on the words inscribed upon the parchment.

“Year of Yi-Geng, sixteenth of the Celestial Realm,” the script began, “The Ancient Gods descended. A battle waged by the Celestials, and won! My enchanted armaments suffered damage, necessitating their re-forging in this secluded place. Yet, for my valor, I was granted a fragment of their hide, enough to fashion a cuirass…”

“Year of Yi-Geng, nineteenth of the Celestial Realm,” the inscription continued, the tone shifting to one of dread. “A calamitous event! The Immortal Emperor succumbed to madness, pointing his accusing finger towards the heavens before his demise… I bore witness to it all, beheld the scene within the sky that should never have existed…”

“Since my ascension, even in the face of the Ancient Gods, I knew no fear. But that…that single instant…cowardice claimed me, dread overwhelmed me…I beheld what should have remained unseen…”

“As the Celestials rallied for battle, I could only flee. A pair of eyes followed…I must capture what I witnessed, commit it to parchment… again and again…” The handwriting grew more frantic, the hurried strokes betraying the writer’s growing panic. “I have painted it… But what is it…? What have I drawn…?” The inscription ended abruptly.

Wang Lin’s expression hardened, his thoughts churning within him. After a moment of silent contemplation, he seated himself before the desk. He reached for a brush, hoping to glean some understanding of the horrors that had driven the long-dead Immortal to such despair.