The world was motionless.
The fissures in the sky no longer spread; they remained frozen in an unnatural suspension, as if time itself hesitated to continue its work of destruction. The clouds, halted mid-movement, looked as though they had been painted onto an unfinished canvas that stubbornly refused to dry, and even the wind seemed to have forgotten the very concept of motion.
The silence that had settled was too perfect to be natural.
Around Wang Lin, a translucent barrier had deployed without the slightest sound, without pulsation, without any perceptible surge of qi. It did not shine, did not vibrate, did not claim any visible authority; it merely existed—and that bare, unadorned existence was more terrifying than any ostentatious display of celestial power.
The demon's voice rose at last, calm, almost indulgent, as though the entire situation were nothing more than a delayed formality to him.
"You know, Water Dragon God… I have no desire to damage your body."
He slowly circled Liang Feng in a lazy arc, and each of his steps caused an almost imperceptible distortion in space, as if the world had to constantly readjust itself to grant him passage, unable to fully bear his presence.
"After all," he continued in a detached tone, "this body will soon be mine."
Wang Lin's breath caught in his chest.
"Liang Feng… what's going on?" he finally asked, his voice trembling despite himself.
He swept his gaze across the surrounding space, then lifted his eyes toward the frozen sky, toward the veiled figure moving without constraint, toward those impossible horns that seemed to belong to an era the world should have long forgotten.
"Ever since earlier… I can't even think properly anymore. What is this demon? And you… that appearance…"
He swallowed hard before daring to voice the question burning on his lips.
"You really… sealed him?"
Liang Feng did not answer.
His gaze remained fixed on the entity, unmoving, focused—yet something changed around him at that precise instant. Space contracted imperceptibly, like a silent correction taking place, without any rise in power, without the deployment of aura, without the slightest hint of violence.
This was not an action.
It was an implicit command.
Wang Lin understood then that this silence was not hesitation. It was a deliberate, lucid choice—and that choice would decide everything that followed.
"Decades ago…"
The demon's voice stretched once more, now laden with an ancient contempt, crystallized by time.
"We belonged to the same order. We walked beneath the same banner, and we were given a single mission."
He stopped in front of Liang Feng, his attention focusing on him like a blade about to fall.
"To bring back the Chosen Child. The one you now call Wang Lin."
The silence grew even heavier.
"But you chose to betray us. Not just me. Not just our order."
His voice hardened, each word gaining weight.
"You betrayed the Demonic Emperor himself. You… his most faithful right hand."
A low laugh vibrated through the frozen air, producing no audible ripple.
"You chose to seal a god rather than complete your mission."
He tilted his head slightly, in an almost courteous gesture.
"Tell me, Dragon God… did you truly believe history would forget you?"
Liang Feng closed his eyes.
It was neither fatigue nor resignation. It was a conscious decision.
When he opened them again, the world responded.
Not with light.
Not with sound.
But with absence.
The demonic pressure crushing the atmosphere around Wang Lin ceased to exist—not pushed back, not dispersed, but erased at the root, as if, within that precise area, the demon's very presence had never been permitted to manifest.
The barrier surrounding Wang Lin cracked silently, then vanished without leaving a trace.
The demon froze.
For the first time since his awakening, something had contradicted his existence.
Liang Feng finally spoke, and his perfectly calm voice imposed itself naturally.
"As long as I stand here…"
Space around him stabilized abruptly, forced back into coherence.
"This mission no longer exists."
The demon smiled.
And that smile became the attack.
There was no scream.
No grand gesture.
Reality folded violently around him, as if a line had been drawn straight through existence itself. A killing intent—pure, direct—descended.
Not toward Liang Feng.
But toward Wang Lin.
The air exploded—not from a shockwave, but because it had suddenly lost the right to exist at that precise location, as if reality itself had revoked its permission to remain.
Space tore open along an invisible trajectory, striking toward Wang Lin's suspended body with absolute precision.
Liang Feng moved.
Or rather—
he had already moved.
"Now."
A single word.
An instruction.
Behind Wang Lin, a silhouette materialized without transition.
No invocation.
No ritual.
An avatar.
Identical to Liang Feng, yet stripped of all human expression. Its eyes were empty, functional, entirely focused on a single task.
Before Wang Lin could even comprehend what was happening, a hand closed around his shoulder.
The world vanished.
Not in a flash of light, nor in any visible distortion the mind could grasp.
The world was simply replaced, as if the previous instant had never existed.
The trajectory of the attack passed through the space where Wang Lin should have been—
—and struck nothing.
The sky sealed itself shut with a soundless collapse.
The demon froze.
A fraction of a second passed.
Then he slowly turned his head.
"Interesting…"
Wang Lin opened his eyes.
He was no longer floating.
He stood upon a liquid surface that was neither water nor energy. Beneath his feet stretched an infinite sea—calm, translucent, threaded with slow, luminous currents flowing in eternal silence.
The sky above him was not a sky.
It was a vault of moving inscriptions, circulating laws, and concepts held in perfect balance.
"Where… where am I…?" he murmured.
The avatar stood before him.
"The Spiritual Sea," it replied emotionlessly.
"Liang Feng's inner domain."
Wang Lin felt something descend gently upon him—irresistible, yet not hostile.
It was not oppression.
It was a difference in level.
He understood.
He had not been moved through space.
He had been removed from the battlefield itself.
"Stay here," the avatar continued.
"As long as the battle is not over…"
"…this is the only place where you can exist without being erased."
Before Wang Lin could ask another question, the avatar raised its hand.
Space closed.
Wang Lin was left alone within the silent Spiritual Sea, surrounded by Liang Feng's overwhelming—yet strangely protective—presence.
In the fractured sky, Liang Feng stepped forward.
This time, the world did not correct itself.
It obeyed.
Local laws aligned around him like soldiers reuniting with their commander. The cracks in the sky trembled—not in fear, but in recognition.
"You attacked first," Liang Feng said calmly.
The horned demon burst into deep laughter.
"Then show me, Dragon God…"
His horns vibrated.
"…whether you are still worthy of that title."
The pressure rose.
Nothing restrained the clash anymore.
The horned demon slowly raised his hand.
This time, the world perceived it.
Behind him, space contracted violently—not as a wave of qi, but as if an invisible structure had been ripped from the very fabric of existence. Air lost its depth. Colors flattened. Distance became uncertain.
A titanic shadow took shape in the sky.
It was not a physical weapon.
It was a conceptual form.
A colossal axe, without handle or substance, forged of broken black lines, geometric fractures, and impossible voids. It emitted no light—yet around it, brightness itself refused to exist.
Those mortals who looked up did not witness an attack.
They witnessed negation.
The Primordial Axe of Profanation descended.
Not with violence.
Not with speed.
But with absolute, cold certainty.
When it fell, the sky split.
Not a luminous crack.
Not chaotic destruction.
A clean, almost elegant division.
Above and below ceased to be connected.
The distant no longer answered the near.
The planet's spiritual veins screamed without sound, their paths shattering like rivers crashing against an invisible wall.
Where the axe passed, the sky took on a sickly green hue, like ancient glass fractured from within. Translucent lines remained suspended in the air, swaying slowly—scars left by a reality forced to sever its own coherence.
Across the world—
—A mountain range did not explode; it forgot how to remain whole, dissolving into meaningless mineral dust.
—An entire sea lost its spirituality in a single breath, its waters growing heavy and lifeless, unable to reflect the sky.
—Ancient natural formations ceased to function, their patterns collapsing like sentences stripped of grammar.
The planet endured.
Liang Feng lifted his gaze.
He did not retreat.
He stepped forward.
And water answered.
No explosion.
No violent display.
From the depths of the Blue Star, something began to circulate.
The oceans rose—not as waves, but as towering celestial columns. The water did not rush toward the sky; it recognized Liang Feng.
Spiritual rivers erupted from the earth, arcing fluidly around him, coiling like ancient liquid dragons. Their surfaces were calm, nearly smooth, yet their depths seemed infinite.
The Dao of Primordial Water manifested fully.
As the axe continued its descent, water interposed itself.
Not to block.
Not to oppose.
But to absorb.
Every conceptual fracture was immediately carried away by a current. Every rupture found a new path. The separation imposed by the axe transformed into forced circulation.
The division slowed.
The sky entered overload.
Then—
CRACK.
A fissure appeared upon the conceptual surface of the axe itself.
Infinitesimal.
Yet real.
The horned demon narrowed his eyes.
"Ah… ah… ah…"
He rotated his hand.
The axe pivoted.
This time, it did not strike the world.
It struck the flow.
The spiritual rivers around Liang Feng reversed violently. Harmonious circulations collapsed into contradiction. Water no longer flowed—it hesitated.
The Dao of Profanation attacked circulation itself.
A second passed.
Then—
Cold descended.
Not thermal cold.
A conceptual zero.
The Dao of Origin Ice entered the battlefield.
The rivers froze in an impossible state—neither liquid, nor solid, nor dispersed. The corruption was halted mid-action, suspended like an insect trapped in amber.
The sky screamed.
Without sound.
An entire region of the Blue Star entered temporal desynchronization. Some mortals saw the sun rise multiple times within a single minute; others felt their bodies age, then revert, without understanding why.
They survived.
But the world was being drained.
Liang Feng took a step.
That step destroyed nothing.
It reassigned.
Gravity inclined toward him.
Local spiritual veins subtly altered their course.
"This planet cannot endure a second exchange," Liang Feng said calmly.
The demon smiled.
"I know."
His horns vibrated.
"That is why I do not need to win here."
Absolute silence fell.
The first exchange had ended.
Neither was wounded.
Neither had retreated.
But the Blue Star had already begun to pay the price.
Liang Feng stepped back half a pace.
The blood he had coughed up dissipated before touching the ground, absorbed by unstable currents. It was not a fatal injury.
But it was not trivial.
Too strong…
When I was still part of the Order, I heard rumors about his cultivation of the Dao of Profanation.
But not to this extent.
"And to think you are supposed to be the third strongest demon of the Celestial Realm…"
His voice remained calm.
"What I feel is not weakness."
A pause.
"It is the absence of a limit."
The demon smiled slowly.
Within the Spiritual Sea, Wang Lin staggered.
"Liang Feng…"
His voice trembled.
"I… I don't understand anymore.
This demon… the Celestial Realm… the Order…"
He clenched his fists.
"What are you actually facing?"
He could not finish the question.
In the fractured sky, Liang Feng closed his eyes for a single second.
"Wang Lin… I can no longer fight and protect the Blue Star at the same time.
Every exchange of Dao tears something away from this world."
He opened his eyes.
"Even if I win…"
His voice hardened.
"The planet will die."
A heavy silence followed.
"That is why you must remain in my Spiritual Sea.
And that is why this battle…"
"…cannot last."