The sky burned with divine light.
Far above the mortal realm, two projections descended—Qian Renxue, bearer of the Angel God's will, and Bibidong, high priestess of Rakshasa's vengeance. Their bodies radiated power no mortal could match.
Yet neither had descended in full. The rules of the world—the law of planes—would not permit true gods to enter. Only their projections, condensed by divine sense and godly essence, could cross.
And in front of them stood Tang San, silent, calm, his robes fluttering in the heavenly wind. His body radiated Level 99 pressure, just a step away from godhood—but he remained unascended.
"You're rejecting your godhood?" Qian Renxue's voice held disbelief. "After all you've sacrificed…?"
Tang San's hand clenched slightly at his side. The Haotian Hammer rested on his back, heavy and worn. Its surface was cracked—yet it pulsed faintly, responding to him.
"I am," he said simply.
Bibidong scoffed, her Rakshasa Scythe humming with killing intent. "Foolish sentimentality? Or cowardice?"
Tang San closed his eyes. He remembered the moment—when the door to divinity opened, and the heavens offered their throne.
But in that instant, as his spirit brushed the threshold of the God Realm, something whispered from deep within the void. A pulse, ancient and forbidden, came not from the gods—but from the foundation of the world itself.
And he saw it.
Chains.
Not of iron, but of law. The so-called gods were not free—they were bound to a heavenly mechanism far beyond comprehension. The moment one took the divine throne, they became a gear in the endless cycle of fate.
"I will not ascend to become a slave," he murmured.
Qian Renxue's face turned cold. "Then you are the enemy of heaven."
"No," Tang San said quietly. "I am merely not its servant."
The first blow came from Bibidong.
Her scythe tore through the air, splitting clouds with cursed power. Tang San moved, not with divine speed—but pure technique, dodging narrowly as he summoned the Haotian Hammer from his back.
Clang!
The scythe collided with the black iron of the hammer, and a wave of energy blasted through the sky. Tang San grunted. He was no god—but his control over force, timing, and energy was unmatched.
"You can't win against us," Bibidong snarled. "You're refusing divinity. You're sealing your fate."
"Perhaps," Tang San muttered, pushing her back a step. "But even without divinity, I still have my will."
He flipped the hammer and stepped into a stance from his family's lost martial manual. He remembered his father's words: "The hammer is not a weapon. It is your soul made form."
Somewhere deep in his sea of consciousness…
Something stirred.
The near-divine battle, the pressure, the rejection of the god realm—it all aligned. In that moment, an ancient pulse responded within him. It wasn't god-given. It wasn't a system. It was primordial.
Lines formed in his mind. Not words, but patterns. Like cycles, spirals of comprehension. A method to cultivate spiritual clarity, absorb energy with precision, and most importantly—sharpen the mind like a blade.
He couldn't understand all of it.
But the first page imprinted into his mind.
"The soul must sever illusion before it can shape fate. Begin with clarity. Continue with discipline. End with transcendence."
Tang San breathed in deeply as the mental pattern settled.
Outside, Qian Renxue prepared to strike.
But as she launched her spear of light, Tang San's posture shifted. The Haotian Hammer spun and deflected the blow—not with brute force, but with subtle timing. It was as if he predicted the path in advance.
Qian Renxue frowned. "Your mind… it's clearer than before?"
Tang San didn't answer. His eyes were calm.
The battle didn't last long. Both divine projections, sensing the gathering of universal laws, were forced to retreat—the God Realm would not permit prolonged contact.
Before she vanished, Bibidong hissed one last warning.
"You've chosen exile. We'll see how long you survive outside the gods' grace."
They vanished.
Later that night...
Tang San sat in meditation, breathing slowly beneath a mountain cavern near the Tang Clan ruins.
The first pattern of the technique was forming. It didn't grant instant power. It was not flashy. But he could feel its effect already—his spiritual energy circulated smoother, his absorption of surrounding force was cleaner.
He would need years. Decades, perhaps.
But he had found something deeper than godhood.
He placed the Haotian Hammer before him and stared at its cracked surface. His divine weapons—the Sea God Trident, the Asura Sword—had rejected him after his choice. But the hammer remained.
Old. Damaged.
But faithful.
"I'll forge you again," he whispered. "And when the time comes… I'll raise you beyond the gods themselves."
In a quiet room nearby, Xiao Wu gently rocked a newborn child. A girl—Tang Yuexin—with faint silver-blue hair and a soft smile.
Xiao Wu looked toward the cavern.
Her eyes were full of both warmth… and worry.
End of Chapter 1