The final, echoing words, "Gods do not kneel. They bloom," had resonated through the stunned silence of the Heaven-Sewn Court, a chilling pronouncement that shattered the old order. The sky above, torn by Xu Wushuang's unauthorized ascension, remained ruptured, bleeding lawless qi storms across the realm. The very air crackled with a raw, untamed power that induced madness in untrained cultivators nearby. Wushuang, no longer Jianyu or Niánmei, but a spiraling fusion of all they had been, stood at the epicenter of this cataclysm, a terrifying, beautiful anomaly.
The emergence of their third form was complete. It was a seamless blend of male and female elements, exuding a dual-core qi resonance that pulsed with an almost unbearable intensity. Their skin shimmered with shifting light, their eyes held the depth of ancient stars, and their voice, when it came, was a symphony of echoes, both masculine and feminine, yet neither.
System Evolution: COMPLETEFunction Unlocked: Mirror DominionNote: Reflect and rebound any external qi technique once seen. Identity: Singularity Imminent.
Upon Wushuang's return to Heifeng Cheng, the city was a maelstrom of fear and desperate attempts at control. Sect envoys, their faces pale with terror and outrage, immediately declared Wushuang's presence a "sacrilege," an abomination that defied all natural and spiritual laws. They demanded their immediate execution or, failing that, containment within the deepest, most secure spiritual prisons.
Wushuang looked at them, their fused eyes holding an ancient, terrifying amusement. The combined might of the cultivation world, the matriarchs who had once sought to control them, now trembled before their unbound power.
A thousand spiritual weapons, aimed by trembling hands, rose to meet them. The air thrummed with the collective qi of desperate cultivators.
Wushuang spoke. A single command, resonant and absolute, that vibrated through the very bones of the city.
"Kneel."
The word was not a whisper, but a force. It ripped through the air, a wave of sheer spiritual pressure. Every cultivator present below the ninth realm, every elder, every disciple, every guard, gasped. Their knees buckled. Their qi shattered. They collapsed, unconscious, their bodies twitching faintly on the polished stone, their minds overwhelmed by the sheer, unbridled power of Wushuang's command. Only the most powerful matriarchs, their faces contorted in agony, remained standing, though even they swayed, their eyes wide with profound, existential terror.
The world now saw Wushuang not as a saint or a weapon, not as a man or a woman, but as something utterly new. An anomaly. A god that walked. A terrifying, beautiful force of nature, unbound by the rules they had once sought to impose. The old order was crumbling, and Wushuang was the architect of its demise.