Soon, the superior Legends began to withdraw. One by one, they turned and flew away, followed by all others whose cultivation bases were too weak to endure the growing pressure. The light of the nebula—once distant and beautiful—had become a sun of annihilation.
Only those with the might of Half-Step Lords and above remained. Their souls were strong enough to perceive the divine rhythm within the nebula's Laws without disintegrating under its weight. To gaze upon it was to glimpse the birth and death of universes woven together—a power so absolute it could reduce even a Lord to ash.
The White Death stood closest of them all. His eyes were sharp, cold, and unblinking as he took a deep breath and advanced toward the glowing singularity. Each step forward felt like wading into a sea of molten fire. Waves of radiation lashed against his flesh, burning through armor and skin alike. Yet he endured.
