The sky… shattered.
Not metaphorically. The endless blue canvas tore apart, jagged streaks of burning light slicing across it with a deafening, glass-shattering roar. Colossal shadows swept over the land—not clouds, but gargantuan warships and beasts, ablaze with sacred fire or wrapped in the suffocating aura of the abyss. They collided, raining death like relentless hail upon the tiny world below.
This was a frontier world at the edge of the Divine Realm, now turned into a battlefield for gods.
BOOM—!!!
A pillar of pure white light, blazing with the will of absolute order and judgment, erupted from the prow of a colossal warship, its structure glimmering like a crystal mountain. Every winged abyssal creature in its path evaporated instantly. The afterglow swept across the land, slicing half of a towering mountain in silence; its surface was smooth as glass, lava dripping from the jagged edges.
Almost at the same moment, a rent opened in the sky, revealing the twisted void within. From it, a massive claw of shadows and anguished screams lashed out, raking the side of the crystalline warship. The sickening sound of bending metal drowned out even the explosions. Sacred crystal armor shattered like fragile glass, and countless tiny, glowing figures—lesser angels or divine servants—were sucked into the void, annihilated instantly.
"For the glory of the Supreme God!" a voice roared amidst the storm of energy, speaking the divine common tongue. Every syllable carried a power that could uplift hearts—but it was quickly drowned out by the maddened howls of the abyss.
"Devour! Corrupt! All shall return to nothing!" another voice hissed in a language of chaos and blasphemy, drilling into the minds of mortals and stirring primal fear.
At the center of the battlefield, a high-ranking angel with three pairs of luminous wings hovered, swinging a blazing holy sword. Every strike carved arcs of light spanning kilometers, cleaving the winged demonic dragons that charged him to pieces. His face was perfect but cold; golden eyes reflected nothing but absolute disdain for heresy.
Opposing him was a constantly shifting mass of black sludge, covered in countless eyes and radiating psychic shockwaves that twisted the very fabric of space around it.
Every clash unleashed energy tsunamis, and even the laws of reality seemed to wail in pain.
At the edge of this apocalyptic battlefield, in a scorched corner repeatedly plowed by the residual energy of combat, a small figure huddled.
Elian clutched his head, curling up in a half-collapsed cellar. Each massive explosion shook the earth violently, rain of dirt and rubble falling onto his tattered clothing. He shivered—not from cold, for the air itself burned—but from the overwhelming, incomprehensible power of the gods.
He was just an ordinary boy, moments ago worrying about survival. Now he was a mere ant in a storm, witnessing gods and demon lords gamble with his homeland as if it were a chessboard.
Fear gripped him, nearly suffocating.
Then—
KRAAAASH!!!
A massive beam of holy light veered wildly, missing its demonic target, and struck less than a hundred meters away.
The earth cracked like eggshells, heaved, then exploded! The shockwave obliterated what remained of the cellar.
"Ah!!" Elian felt as though an invisible hammer had struck him. He was thrown across the scorched land, crashing heavily, bones threatening to splinter.
Coughing up blood and dust, ears ringing, he barely registered sound beyond a strange, persistent hum. Struggling to lift his head, his vision blurred.
Before him lay a massive crater, carved by the misfired beam. Steam rose from the depths; molten rock glimmered like glass.
And in the center… something caught his eye.
It was not stone, nor twisted metal.
It was a corpse.
A colossal figure clad in ancient, tattered dark-gold armor. Even fallen, it radiated grandeur far beyond mortal measure. Its skin was pale gold, its face stern and sculpted, frozen in death with a trace of anger—and something else, an indescribable regret. A gaping black hole scorched its chest, as if struck by a force that extinguished all life in an instant.
Most remarkable: despite death, a faint, pure golden glow emanated from the corpse, repelling the encroaching abyssal corruption and rampant holy energy, forming a small, absolute sanctuary.
This divine corpse was unlike any other fading god or demon. Its aura was ancient, vast, and carried a completeness that Elian could not comprehend.
Another explosion rocked him awake. Instinct for survival overrode fear. Crawling, rolling, staggering, he reached the pit and pressed himself against the corpse.
The golden glow formed a protective bubble. Outside, the destructive roar of the battlefield diminished dramatically.
Elian panted violently, heart hammering, fingers brushing the corpse's cold, rigid hand.
Then—
Buzz!
A surge of thought slammed into his mind. Fragments of supreme will and knowledge forced their way in—not words, but pure, raw intent:
[…Dao…collapse…laws…extinct…gods…thieves…my path…alone…body as vessel…divine fuel…question the primal…]
Countless inscrutable symbols, action patterns holding universal truths, and intricate maps of energy circulation, cultivation, and refinement flooded his mind. Vast and fragmented, most of it was incomprehensible. Yet some foundational truths—how to perceive and guide energy—imprinted clearly.
And with them, the corpse's name and unyielding will:
[I am… the last… heir of the primordial… unwilling… the path… broken…]
Boom! Another explosion jolted him. He recoiled, the visions receding, leaving only the essential knowledge and the corpse's stubborn resolve embedded deep in his soul.
He stared at his hands, then at the corpse, now gradually losing its glow, beginning to dissipate.
Above, the divine war raged on. Light and darkness alternated over the land, a dance of apocalypse.
Yet in Elian's mind, a foreign term arose—a word utterly alien to this Western divine world—along with a strange rhythm of breathing and mental guidance:
"Qi Refinement."
Trembling, he followed the incomplete instinctual knowledge in his mind, drawing in his first breath.
A faint, almost imperceptible warmth stirred in his lower abdomen, trembling to life.