As the eighteen orbs of blood, each ten fathoms across, descended, a soul-crushing dread filled the star-strewn void. Yet, the warriors of Luo Tian were untouched by this oppressive force, their forms shimmering with crimson light, a beacon of defiance.

But upon the advancing legions of the Alliance, the dread fell like a hammer blow!

In that instant, the unimaginable weight of the cosmos seemed to crush them, their blood surging, the sounds of battle drowned out by the thunderous rhythm of their own hearts. Even their vision faltered, blurring the celestial spectacle before them.

These eighteen blood orbs, each a sphere of ten fathoms, were the treasures of two ancient houses of Luo Tian, wrought over millennia through the sacrifice of countless kin, imbued with ancestral secrets. They were known throughout the ancient realms.

They were called the Eighteen Rofu.

Rofu itself had been a sacred mountain of the elder days, yet it was said to have crumbled overnight, its inhabitants dying in a torrent of blood.

Their life essence had congealed, forming a single, ten-fathom sphere of crimson.

Thus, was the legend of Rofu born. Sages and scholars had come, pondered, and gleaned understanding, eventually mastering the creation of such blood orbs. Yet, the process was fraught with peril and low success rates, making their use rare, despite their potent power.

The strength of the Eighteen Rofu lay in the sheer force of their dread. Each orb brought a weight of oppression, and the combined presence of eighteen reached a level beyond comprehension.

However, those who had pre-mixed their blood with the orbs were shielded from the dread and found their power amplified.

The Blackfiend Lord, his face a mask of fury, prepared to strike at the orbs, but the Blood Godling stepped forth, his laughter echoing as he blocked the path.

The Thunderfire Lord, impassive, raised a hand towards the West, piercing the veil of space and striking the very heart of the torn alliance lands.

Within Luo Tian, tens of thousands of warriors stood arrayed, channeling their energies toward a single object.

It was a tree, a colossal trunk stretching for ten thousand fathoms, its girth a thousand more!

A Tree of Heaven! Discovered by the Thunderpeak Hall three millennia ago, this ancient artifact once supported the celestial realms of old. The fallen world of Luo Tian held the most complete specimen, while the others were shattered in the sundering.

An aura of ancient power emanated from the wood. Long kept hidden by the Thunderpeak Hall, it now stood as the spearhead of Luo Tian’s assault.

With a unified cry, the warriors pushed the Tree of Heaven forward. Ancient sorcerers from the houses of Xiang and Gongsun, and the ancient monster roared their strength into the ancient tree. With a deafening rumble, the tree surged towards the passage, gathering speed until it became a swirling vortex, shaking the very heavens. It plunged into the rift and burst forth in the Alliance West.

Its speed was unnerving, the keening wail of its passage cutting through the soul. The shattered barriers of the Alliance, pieced together with cracks and desperation, were nothing before its might. With resounding booms, a shockwave expanded from the point of impact, tearing through the barriers as the Tree of Heaven tore through.

Following in its wake, the warriors of Luo Tian poured through, their eyes burning with hatred.

Alliance warriors materialized through portals. They tried to dodge, but the Tree of Heaven swept through the portals and sucked the alliance warriors to their doom.

Some warriors were struck directly by the tree itself. Their bodies shattered, their souls unraveled, and their essence dissipated.

The Eighteen Rofu were the first wave. Now, the Tree of Heaven was the second. But the attack had only just begun!

As the Tree cleared a path, a roar echoed through the very foundations of the Alliance West. “Long live the Young Lord!”

The cry cleaved through the void, shattering the resolve of the Alliance warriors.

A tide of brutal madness poured from the rift. Through the two-realm passage, a colossal planetoid emerged, veiled in a sinister fog.

As it emerged, the fog receded, revealing an oval shape, wreathed in flowing tendrils of hair. It was Wang Yue!

Its eyes blazed, filled with limitless rage. It tore through the passage, its tendrils lashing wildly.

A guttural roar thundered through the cosmos!
From the gaping maw of Wang Yue, a chasm rent wider than any star, erupted a cataclysmic roar. The sound became a storm, a tempestuous wave that crashed against the fabric of the heavens. Before it, the star-spun rifts and fissures of the void, like parchment scrolls caught in a gale, unfurled and whipped back upon themselves in chaotic surrender.

Yet, as the sonic onslaught approached a colossal, ancient tree—a veritable world-tree reaching for the forgotten stars—a shield of golden light sprung forth, encasing it like a celestial egg. The roar, robbed of purchase, sheared harmlessly around this protective aura, its fury dissipating into the inky depths.

Wang Yue’s bellow, titanic in its intensity, triggered a chain reaction of stellar collapse. Before the World-Tree, the very nothingness rippled and buckled as the echo of the roar passed through it. A figure, garbed in the pristine white robes of a Daoist master, was violently forced from his ethereal hiding place.

His face, etched with grim determination, was ashen. His eyes, piercing enough to bore through the veil of stars, fixed upon the approaching behemoth. Without hesitation, he retreated, but in that heartbeat, the towering World-Tree surged forward with the momentum of a dying star.

The fleeing Daoist was none other than Dao Yuan, one of the four esteemed Pillars of the Cultivation Alliance. With a sigh that carried the weight of ages, he redoubled his escape.

But even as he fled, two figures erupted from the World-Tree, arcing like streaks of vengeful light across the battlefield. The ancient patriarch of the Xiang family and the man bearing the name of Gongsun, both unleashed their power in a desperate pursuit of the white-robed elder.

“Alliance brother,” boomed the Xiang patriarch, his laughter echoing across the collapsing stars, “Why such haste?” With a flick of his sleeve, he unleashed a crimson gale that engulfed ten thousand leagues of space, staining the heavens with the color of spilled blood.

Thus did the grand conflict rage, consuming the western and northern sectors of the Alliance as its bloody stage. A cacophony of carnage, a symphony of shrieking steel and arcane energy, filled the void. A kaleidoscopic display of magical artifacts lit the darkness, each blast a desperate prayer hurled into the void.

Waves of raw power coalesced, roiling and crashing against the unseen boundaries of reality. In this savage ballet of death, cultivators from both the Luotian and Alliance forces teetered on the precipice of annihilation. Wang Yue, as if guided by some ancient instinct, relentlessly hunted the Alliance warriors, sparing few from its wrath while seemingly oblivious to the presence of the Luotian ranks.

With each earth-shattering step, the tide of war shifted, the Alliance territory spiraling into a desperate disadvantage.

Within this crucible of conflict, in the westernmost reaches of the ravaged Alliance territories, journeyed Wang Lin. Lei Ji, his form diminished to the size of a three-zhang giant, carved a path through the chaos. The Big-Headed Boy scurried in his wake, while the hulking Ta Shan stalked the periphery, his eyes burning with an unyielding vigilance.

Wang Lin, his expression placid, moved through the carnage. Several Alliance cultivators, upon sighting him, paled and fled, recognizing the immense power radiating from his party. Others, emboldened by false courage or numerical advantage, dared to attack. They met swift and brutal ends.

A trail of blood and shattered dreams marked Wang Lin’s passage. The closer he drew to his destination, the more frequent the encounters with the desperate remnants of the Alliance became, yet few dared to stand against him.

Though Wang Lin emitted no overt aura of malice, Lei Ji, Ta Shan, and the Big-Headed Boy radiated a palpable sense of impending doom, a silent promise of brutal efficiency.

Wang Lin surveyed the shattered landscape. Familiar star systems were now debris fields, and monstrous, rending tears in the fabric of space roared past. Yet, before Wang Lin, these abyssal rifts seemed to recoil, sliding away as if touched by an unseen hand.

Were a seasoned ancient, a cultivator of the Second Step, at the state of Purified Nirvana, to witness such a phenomenon, they would recognize it as the nascent mastery of cosmic law. Though the Insightful Void stage allowed for a glimpse of these fundamental forces, true command remained the purview of those who had transcended into the realm of Purified Nirvana. Wang Lin, though not yet at that exalted level, possessed a unique understanding granted by the Sky-Defying Bead, a hint of the very essence of Nirvana itself, albeit faint.

Suddenly, in the distance, a figure appeared: a lithe woman clad in violet silk, her face etched with bitter resignation. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she desperately urged her sword, its light flickering with imminent collapse. Behind her, a pack of Alliance cultivators gave chase, their faces contorted with savage glee. Leading the hunt was a middle-aged man, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

“It is she…” Wang Lin murmured, his divine sense recognizing the fleeing woman instantly.