Meanwhile, deep inside the vast, shadowy forest within the dome, the Fire Alliance leader Aldrof Hizler pressed onward with unwavering determination. By his side strode two loyal elders—Fire Devil and Magma Ghost—and the Fifth Grand Elder, Xiao Xin of the Soul Formation Realm. But this formidable group, stripped of their spiritual powers by the dome's restrictive laws, found themselves reduced to mere mortals. Raw physical strength and experience were all that separated them now from the desperate masses.
Hizler and his allies stalked through the darkness, every movement honed by years of battle. Here, despite the heavy silence and the absence of light, vision came unnaturally easy—the dome was lit by its own peculiar magic.
In the chill gloom, the four pursued a fleeing pair: a young man and woman, exhausted and breathless, faces streaked with fear and hope."Lord Hiz, we have no enmity with you—why must we fight to the death?" the woman pleaded, her voice cracking, clutching at her partner's sleeve.
Aldrof Hizler's steps didn't falter; his response was cold and unyielding, eyes fixed ahead. "Didn't you hear Lord Heavenly Law? Only ten can survive this trial. Even if I were to spare you, someone else would not. There is no mercy left here."
The chase pressed into a tangled dead-end—gnarled roots and ancient stones boxing the couple in. Hizler's face hardened. "Don't worry," he intoned, not unkindly, but with finality. "We'll make it quick."
He and the two elders advanced with slow menace, breaths steady, anticipation crackling. The Fifth Grand Elder, Xiao Xin, stood apart, unmoving, a silent observer watching the calculus of survival unfold.
The young couple grasped hands, desperate but resolved as their killers closed in.
Just as Hizler and his elders braced themselves to strike, a truth-rending vibration pulsed through the earth—the entire dome shook violently. Trees rattled, the ground split, and every person or group, near or far, felt the resonant force: even weakened Wang Zhen, deep in his slumber and pain, stirred with alarm.
Outside the dome, towering over the colossal protection formation woven from fragments of thread of cosmic laws refined by Wang Zhen himself, both Old Man Jin and Old Man Wei stood at the edge, their presence challenging the boundaries between inside and out.
The dome's trembling heralded an upheaval, signaling to all within—prey and predator, desperate survivor and ancient elder alike—that destiny itself was about to shift.
...
The dimly lit chamber within the dome felt heavy with shadows, as Wang Zhen sat in quiet contemplation atop his throne. The weight of failure and desperation hung thick in the air around him, reflected in the taut lines of his face. The faint flicker of extinguished lanterns was lost beneath the dark aura that clung to the room like a second skin.
Summoning the spirit once more, Wang Zhen's voice broke the oppressive stillness. "What is going on?" he asked, voice low but edged with an impatient urgency.
The spirit appeared silently, its blue and white flames dancing softly in the gloom. Bowing respectfully, it reported, "Lord, two cultivators at the Peak-Seven Stars of Deity Formation—are attempting to break through the barrier. They seek to rip through the refined barrier woven from the fragments of the thread of laws."
Wang Zhen's expression hardened with cold calculation. "Two Deity Formation cultivators," he mused darkly. "Trying to pierce my barrier of woven law fragments. It will take them, at minimum, a month—because I cannot yet channel the full power to maintain the barrier as I once did. Had I that strength, these insignificant pests would never breach it."
His gaze dimmed as he turned to grimmer reports. "Of the two thousand who entered, over two hundred have had their life force stolen. More than eighteen hundred remain, but only five hundred caterpillars have been harvested from the deaths thus far."
He sighed deeply, the burden evident in his voice. "To break through the Deity Transformation and truly recover, I need at least one thousand. I could attempt this refinement twice. Now, I can only try once—and if I fail this time, I am finished."
A brief, cruel smile flickered. "Go," he commanded the spirit with iron resolve. "Find and kill five hundred of the best body cultivators you can—Nascent Soul, Soul Formation, even mortals. There cultivation does not matter. The refined flesh, from Rank 3 to 5 Gu worms, is what I require."
The spirit bowed, silent but obedient. Rising, it vanished into the shadows from which it came, bidding Wang Zhen a brief but solemn farewell.
The room grew colder, quieter—the desperate countdown to Wang Zhen's fate had begun.
...
In the heavy, suffocating darkness of the vast dome forest, the spirit materialized silently, a flicker of icy white and blue flame against the ever-encroaching shadows. Behind it, the entire dome trembled, disturbed by two Deity Formation cultivators attempting to breach the impenetrable barrier woven from Wang Zhen's fragments of the threads of laws.
With outstretched senses, the spirit spread its divine sense across the vast expanse of the dome, piercing through the veil that sealed the cultivators' spiritual energy. It surveyed the multitude of beings—some weary, others aggressive, some furtive, and many on the brink of exhaustion.
There was a man with stark white hair tied tightly behind his head, his eyes sharp and cautious, moving through the shadows with practiced ease; a young woman with quick, light steps and a deep scar across her cheek, her hands constantly weaving minor spells of defense; a hulking warrior whose armor was dented and scorched, silent and watchful; a pair of twins whispering strategies in low voices; a timid old cultivator who shuffled quietly among the others. Each life burned with a faint glow that the spirit could perceive despite the sealing, each unique beneath the imposed veil.
The spirit's gaze sharpened, and with precise calculation, it identified the five hundred cultivators whose bodies boasted the best foundations—the purest refinement of flesh and bone that could satisfy Wang Zhen's grim requirements.
To the spirit's surprise, except five Core Formation, all others were-Qi Condensation to Foundation Establishment realms, and none of them were Nascent Soul, Soul Formation, or Soul Transformation realms.
"This outcome was not unexpected," the spirit mused mentally. "Building the best foundation of body cultivation is best achieved while at low realms. High realm cultivators must undergo great adjustments as their spiritual energies mature, making their physical foundations inferior in comparison to those who honed their bodies earlier when less spiritually advanced."
With a commanding snap of its ethereal fingers, the spirit teleported the selected five hundred body cultivators to a secluded clearing—a barren patch devoid of trees or underbrush within the dark forest—a place prepared for what was to come.
Confusion erupted among the cultivators, their voices rising in startled shouts and frustrated curses.
"What the fuck? Where the hell am I?" shouted one, eyes darting wildly. "I was moments from killing that bastard, and now I'm here! This sucks!" yelled another, fists clenched in rage. "WHAT THE FUCK!!!" echoed through the silent canopy, the collective panic an undercurrent pulsing beneath the surface.
Then, with a second snap, a terrifying force rippled through the air.
Suddenly, every cultivator's head exploded with a sickening snap—flesh and bone shattering in an instant—sending corpses to collapse on trembling knees before falling face-first onto the cold earth below.
The clearing fell into an unnatural stillness.
With a final snap, a gust of wind surged along the ground, stirring leaves and dust like a whispered incantation. From the bodies, shimmering threads of residual energy—spiritual remnants twisted and raw—emerged slowly, weaving together before the spirit's form.
Out of this gathered essence, a writhing mass of caterpillars condensed, glowing faintly with a mystic light—a concentrated embodiment of the refined bodies' life force, harvested ruthlessly to fuel Wang Zhen's dark ambitions.
With a silent wave of its flickering form, the spirit vanished, leaving the clearing empty but for the eerie glow of the captured energy and the hollow whispers of fallen souls.
...
Inside the dim, shadowed chamber of Wang Zhen, the air was thick with a heavy, suffocating stillness—an atmosphere weighed down by desperation and the fading pulse of power. The faint glimmer of candles and the dark, ancient stones seemed to absorb hope, yet within this gloom, a sudden flicker of ethereal light shaped the arrival of the spirit.
The spirit appeared silently before Wang Zhen, its form a wavering dance of white and blue flames contrasting starkly with the encompassing shadows. Bowing low in reverence, it spoke with measured urgency, "Lord, I have acquired five hundred caterpillars—a condensed essence drawn from the best body cultivators within the dome."
The spirit's voice carried a note of caution. "However, M'lord, I expended one of the fifteen portions of energy stored within the blessed land's reserves. The land's sustaining power is diminished and can now only hold out for twenty-seven days instead of a full month."
Wang Zhen's cold eyes gleamed with dark resolve as he absorbed this report. He stepped down from his throne—a movement rare and significant, denoting a turning point in his faltering dominion. His voice, when it came, was calm but charged with deadly promise.
"No worries," he said with assured confidence that masked the sharp edges of his desperation. "Once I achieve my breakthrough, I will make it clear who dares knock on my door with hostility. This is the reckoning they cannot escape."
The mass of faintly glowing caterpillars began to flow toward him like a living river of light, pulsating softly with the energy of those crushed souls.
As Wang Zhen reached out, the collected essence seemed to fuse with his aura, a visible merging of infinite hunger and growing power.
For the first time, Wang Zhen rose fully to his feet, unshackled by weakness and immobility. But, his face could not be seen.
Then, with the faint crackle of divine energy surging around him, he vanished—disappearing along with the gathered caterpillars, embarking on the final stage of his desperate rebirth.
The dim chamber remained silent and cold, the air charged with the ominous promise of the inevitable.
...
Outside the dome, the massive barrier of fragments woven from the fragments of threads of laws loomed—an almost living wall of cosmic energy and ancient power. The air around it crackled faintly with the residual force of countless cosmic strands, a testament to the intricate craftsmanship behind Wang Zhen's defense.
Old Man Jin stood silently before this fortress of laws, his white hair fluttering in the breeze as he assessed the seemingly impenetrable barrier. Beside him, Old Man Wei gripped the massive 44 Mountain Seal with both hands, his muscles tense with exertion.
With a grunt, Wei raised the seal high and slammed it down against the barrier. The impact sent a shockwave rumbling through the ground, making the very earth tremble beneath their feet. Yet, apart from a faint flicker in the energy veil, the barrier remained unbroken. Only a deep vibration resonated across the wall, like thunder rolling through a valley.
Wei's expression twisted in frustration, but he did not relent. He alternated between pounding the barrier with the heavy Mountain Seal and delivering powerful, thunderous punches with his bare fists. Each strike echoed loud and sharp, forcing energy ripples to dance across the barrier's surface, but it never yielded more than a brief shimmer.
Old Man Jin watched quietly, then finally spoke with a voice edged by both patience and cool assessment, "Old man, step aside. Admit it—you cannot break it alone."
Wei snapped his teeth in a defiant 'tch' and slowly stepped back, grinding his teeth but conceding for now.
Jin then drew a long, gleaming sword from his spatial ring—a blade radiating centuries of refinement and battle energy. He raised it high above his head, and spiritual energy spiraled around the blade like a violent whirlwind, stirring the air with a palpable charge.
Wei's eyes narrowed as he studied the scene, thoughts turning inward. "Is this the secret technique of the Moon Shadow Sect? The legendary Ten Thousand-Fold Moon Slash…?" The mirage of countless blades shimmered atop Jin's single sword, casting a ghostly glow.
"HAAAAAAA!!!" With a fierce war cry, Jin swung the sword downward with overwhelming force, the whirlwind of spiritual energy cleaving the air itself.
...
The barrier quivered violently at the impact, and, for a moment, a jagged crack spread faintly across the shimmering wall.
Jin's heart pounded fiercely. "Is it working?" he wondered, hope stirring amidst the strain.
But almost instantly, the crack began to seal itself like ink spilling into water, vanishing before his eyes.
A sudden eruption of raw energy blasted outward from the barrier, striking Jin with brutal force. He was hurled backward through the air, sword clutched tightly in his grasp.
Caught by the invisible currents, he finally came to a halt midair, coughing blood as the immense pressure battered his body.
Wei watched, his face taut with surprise and respect.
"How could this be?" Jin gasped, wincing as he steadied himself.
Wei shook his head gravely, concern deepening his voice. "Old Jin, it seems neither one of us can breach that barrier alone." with a moment of silence, "...How about we both attack it."
The two warriors regarded the steadfast barrier—a symbol of Wang Zhen's lingering power—knowing their struggle to break through was far from over.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----