A yin-cold laugh sounded as a beast wreathed in blue light flew out. It resembled, in part, the myriapods of the Primeval Wilds, but was far smaller—under ten thousand meters long. Amid East Extreme behemoths that routinely measured in the millions of meters, this one was a runt—yet it was the strongest among them.
The instant it appeared, several Four Seas Elders shouted in unison, "Retract your auras—don't stare at him!" Their voices were urgent, tinged with fear, as if facing some dire taboo. At the same time, the Four Seas battle formation collectively fell back—clearly on those Elders' orders.
"What is that?" Elder Tianhuo suddenly heard Lin Moyu's voice—and his spirits lifted. He'd nearly forgotten Lin was here: a man who looked like mere Chaosrealm Lesser-Achievement, yet held the Alliance rank of Grand Elder. In the Alliance, you only reach that seat by strength. If Lin truly had such power, they needn't fear.
Glancing down, he saw Lin Moyu already drifting lazily out beyond Wang East Boundary. Elder Tianhuo called out at once, "Grand Elder Lin, caution! That thing is the Dog-Rat Patriarch—poison from snout to tail. His venom spreads by every vector, even contaminates the Dao; stare at him a few times and you're poisoned. He's the clan chief of the Dog-Rat Beasts—strongest of their kind, second only to our Sect Master."
Dog-Rat clan? Lin had never heard of them. "Ugly," he said, openly eyeing the creature, utterly unconcerned about the "venom" Tianhuo warned of—venom that could "pollute the Dao." If there was a toxin that could fell him—instantly, at that—he'd be delighted to study it. The Undying Dao never feared poison; he'd dealt with poisons for ages. If a brew existed that could kill him in a blink, all the better—perhaps he could refine it, die a few ten-thousand times, and grow stronger.
"Don't disappoint me," Lin murmured, watching the Patriarch.
A needling laugh answered him. "What ignorant whelp dares gaze upon this Patriarch? Tired of living?"
"I am," Lin said. "Do me a favor and poison me to death."
That jab stung. The Dog-Rat Patriarch's shrill voice got even sharper. "Very well—die!"
Blue radiance erupted from him; wherever it swept, the void itself smoked. His toxins could even scar space.
The Four Seas cultivators continued to withdraw—distance meant safety. Their formation rose into a shield around them. Wang East Boundary couldn't move, but its grand array was strong; under the blue glare it only twisted and smoked—it did not shatter. The Patriarch alone was short of breaking it.
Lin simply stood in the blue glow, watching. The Patriarch's laugh grew harsher—then uncertain—then a screech: "Impossible! How are you unharmed?"
Lin stood in the light without invoking the Undying Dao—his flesh alone repelled the toxin. So did his soul: a naturally emanating ocean of spirit power kept the venom at bay.
Seeing Lin unscathed, Elder Tianhuo exhaled. "As expected of a Grand Elder."
Around him, several Fire-Sea Elders traded looks. They had assumed Lin was Tianhuo's junior. Now… apparently not.
"Elder Tianhuo, you said he's a Grand Elder? What's his name? I don't recall a Grand Elder surnamed Lin."
"He said Lin Moyu," Tianhuo replied. "I don't remember a 'Lin' either—but that identity token doesn't lie."
"Newly promoted, maybe. We wouldn't necessarily know."
"And don't dig it out of me—I don't know. Ask Grand Elder Lin yourself," Tianhuo snapped, shutting them down. Then, watching the blue glow, he thought: Lin Moyu's got this.
Within the light, Lin looked disappointed. "That's your poison? A bit… lacking."
It was a slap to the Patriarch's face. He shrieked, "Dare belittle this Patriarch? I'll poison you—and every last one of your kin and friends! I'll rot their souls, fester their flesh—no life, no death! If you have descendants, I'll make them live as putrid sludge for generations!"
Lin's brow creased. He lifted a hand and slapped.
A colossal palm manifested, sweeping millions of miles, scything through the East Extreme beasts.
Crash! Screams erupted. Those towering behemoths couldn't stop it and were swatted aside on the spot. The palm, unstoppable, appeared before the Dog-Rat Patriarch and—boom—smacked him tens of thousands of miles away.
"Your poison isn't as sharp as your tongue," Lin said, voice carrying through the firmament like a curse of ice. "I had hoped it might be of some use. Looks like it isn't. I won't bother keeping you. After I kill you, I'll find your clan, exterminate them, then revive them to serve as my slaves for all eternity."
That slap woke the East Extreme force—and marked the true start of battle. They surged to attack—
—and froze as the void filled with an endless tide of Undead Servants. Every single one was Chaosrealm Great-Achievement. Not individually terrifying—but the number was madness.
"So many puppets!"
"Where did the Central Domain get this many? Hundreds of billions?!"
"By the heavens—how do we even fight that? Does the entire East Extreme even have that many Great-Achievement?"
Ascension surged from Lin—he rose from Chaosrealm Lesser-Achievement to Great-Achievement in an instant, flesh and soul both cresting at their peaks. He raised his hand and delivered another slap, then barked, "Kill!"
The Undead Servants hurled themselves forward, obeying to the letter.
The Time-Soul Python flashed out with three enslaved Cold Toad clan Perfectionists in tow. Though weak among Perfection, they were still Perfection—and terrifying when they threw away their lives. They poured everything into offense, not a shred into defense, a picture of suicidal ferocity—because suicide was the order. The Python could control only three Perfection at once; if they didn't die, he couldn't take new ones. He himself, now a Revived One, feared no death—he would simply return.
"Cold Toads? West Extreme natives—why are they here?!"
"What is that python? How can it be so awful?"
"Who is this man—how does he have so many tricks?"
Gold light flared at Lin's side—Xiaopeng answered the call. He streaked into the fray, harvesting lives like a scythe. With the ocean of Undead Servants encircling the East Extreme force, and the Time-Soul Python rampaging with his three puppets, the battlefield buckled. As a Revived One, the Python didn't care about dying. His puppets cared even less. Against East Extreme Perfection, they slaughtered wildly. Xiaopeng, speed unbound, became a flowing band of gold—space shattered wherever he passed. Perfection experts were wounded or forced back; they couldn't even see how he struck, much less block. He couldn't quite one-shot Perfection yet, and he disdained to touch Great-Achievement at all—the Undead Servants would "teach them manners."
From the first exchange, the East Extreme force was suppressed. Their war fortress was a supreme treasure—potent enough to rival several Perfection experts—but it was nearly useless against an ocean of Undead Servants; it couldn't turn the tide. A ceaseless hail of blows drowned it from every direction. Whatever way it flew, the view was the same: Undead Servants. Even an elephant, dropped into an infinite ant-sea, has a day it falls. That was the East Extreme's plight—an undead ocean not of tens of thousands or millions, but of tens of billions. Unless an apex Perfection carved an exit, they had little hope.
As for the Dog-Rat Patriarch—his pride was poison, but poison is a poor net. He could run, yes—but Lin wouldn't permit it. Standing outside the melee, Lin sent Little Tree's roots threading through sealed space—bored with time-space power to open paths for him. Lin slapped again and again; each palm pierced the battlefield, and—suddenly—was in the Patriarch's face. The Dog-Rat's raw might wasn't much—only a hair above common Perfection. Others feared him for his venom. Lin did not. The Patriarch's trump was worthless. Smack after precise smack cracked across his face—crisp reports echoing in the void—until he was punch-drunk. He couldn't block, couldn't flee; his face ballooned, his head swelled severalfold. Pride long gone, he tried to roar—but with his mouth bloodied to pulp, only a twisted howl came out, his soul's bellow rippling through the void.
Lin's answer was a sharper backhand.
Boom! A shockwave tore across vast stretches of space. Countless Undead Servants were caught and pulverized. Several East Extreme Perfection were blasted away, heavily injured. One of the Python's Cold Toad puppets finally fell—he chose to self-destruct at the end, friend and foe alike bathed in the blast. The other two soon met lethal strikes—and likewise exploded. However fearless, three Perfection charging into a hundred were doomed.
The Time-Soul Python's eyes gleamed—he had already picked new quarry. Power rippled; three powerful East Extreme beasts froze—instantly seized. They turned and struck their own, fighting like madmen, all offense, no guard. Panic erupted.
"Again?! What's happening—why are they betraying us?"
"I know it—it's the Time-Soul Python! The West Extreme's Time-Soul Python—he can control us!"
His name traveled far; nearly every Perfection knew it. They simply hadn't imagined he would be here. An apex Perfection of the West Extreme, rarely seen, master of both time-space and soul-domination—a walking nightmare.
At the name, the East Extreme Perfections wavered; panic tinged their eyes. "Retreat! Drop the Space-Fixing Array—we break out!"
"Go! Go!"
Against the Time-Soul Python, their first thought was flight. Whether they could win didn't matter; if they lost, death was one thing—becoming a puppet was damnation.
But the Space-Fixing Array took time to dismantle. Only a few breaths—yet a few breaths decide life and death.
Lin chuckled. "And how many of you think you'll make it out?"
He kept slapping. A formation disk flew; behind him unfurled the Wings of Chaos. The Chaoswing Array roared to life. Space that had been rigidified turned turbulent. The Chaoswings beat, scattering countless motes of light; the motes became tiny sprites that churned the fabric of space to mush.
The Space-Fixing Array immobilizes—freezes the lattice so teleport arrays fail, innate space talents fail, trapping Wang East Boundary and the Central Domain powerhouses. Different method, same result. Now the Fixing Array was going down—only for the Chaoswing Array to rise. They still couldn't run.
The Perfections realized it at once. Space had become a maelstrom. Escape treasures failed. Space talents failed. There was no way out.
"It's him—his array is scrambling space!"
"Kill him! Only if he dies do we escape!"
Dozens of Perfection formed a strike group, smashed through tides of Undead Servants, and lunged for Lin.
Lin smiled. "Good plan—but you're not qualified."
He tapped a finger. A few drops of Heaven-Earth Aqualume shot out—instantly swelling into towering tsunamis, crashing over them like the end of days.