Wang Zhen sat cross-legged in an ancient cave, its single opening barely admitting any light. The marble beneath him gleamed dully, veins of precious jade tracing intricate patterns around where he rested, as if echoing the power and history of its occupant. Shadows hung thick, concealing his face in a shroud of mystery, yet all the world's tension seemed to coil around his silent form.
Before him floated a mass of caterpillars, each one wriggling with faint light—the gathered essence of a thousand body cultivators. Their ghostly procession twisted together, merging slowly within a luminous ball until, with a radiant pulse, they condensed into a single, extraordinary being: the Deity Body Gu.
This caterpillar was unlike any other. White as ancient bone, it radiated a subtle glow, eight pairs of legs moving in slow motion. Its light was pure, as if every fiber had been forged from the essence of life itself—the pinnacle of refined power, the key to Wang Zhen's recovery.
From the shadowy recess where Wang Zhen sat, his hand reached forward, pale and slender yet pulsing with suppressed strength. With absolute resolve, he grasped the Deity Body Gu in his fingers and crushed it.
Instantly, a wave of energy erupted from his palm, engulfing Wang Zhen like a storm of divine fury. His body began to glow from within, light spilling through his veins and pores. Then, cracks appeared along his skin—spiderwebs of gold and white radiating outwards, threatening to break him apart.
Suddenly, Wang Zhen's mouth opened, releasing a guttural scream—"RAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!"—a sound that reverberated through the cave and shook the air itself.
From those cracks, faint gold light surged, splitting his flesh apart in brutal, shimmering lines. His skin shredded away, revealing the sinewy muscles, the intricate web of blood vessels, and the gleaming white of bone beneath. Wang Zhen's body was unmade, piece by piece, the energy burning away everything impure.
But the agony was not yet finished. Cracks spread deeper, splitting his muscles and sinews—each rupture accompanied by another earth-shattering scream, "RAAAGHHGGGGHHHHHHH!!!" Muscles fell away, exposing bare bone and quivering organs—Wang Zhen was reduced to the fundamental architecture of his being. The Deity Transformation was brutal, merciless, and absolute.
As golden light condensed once more, it circled the skeletal remains, reconstructing muscles with exquisite precision—tissue weaving together over bone as new energy bonded into place. Then, another layer of light enveloped him, knitting skin over rebuilt muscles, restoring a form more youthful, refined, and powerful than before.
Yet, the torment running through his body was immense. Deity Transformation was the breaking of mortal limits, not merely a step up in cultivation, but the beginning of ascension—a realm where the laws of mortality weaken, and the path to godhood begins to take shape.
The process was not gentle, nor simple; it was a cosmic trial that only the strongest could endure. Wang Zhen's will had been tempered throughout his life, and even now, as pain clawed through every fiber of his being, his spirit fought to overcome the ordeal—a silent promise etched in the marrow of his newly forged bones.
The cave pulsed with energy, radiating both doom and possibility, as Wang Zhen's transformation continued.
...
Outside the colossal dome stood Old Man Jin and Old Man Wei, their formidable presences radiating unyielding power. Together, they unleashed the full breadth of their might against the impregnable barrier woven from the fragments of the threads of laws—an immense shield that shimmered with a cosmic energy both ancient and unrelenting.
The relentless assault reshaped the terrain around the dome, turning the surrounding forest into a shattered wasteland. Trees that once rose tall now lay smashed and splintered, their remnants scattered in chaotic heaps. The earth itself groaned under the force of their attacks, cracked wide open in tumultuous rifts, and in some places, entire sections of ground had been flipped upside down, exposing raw rock and soil.
Old Man Wei wielded the 44 Mountain Seal like a hammer forged by the heavens, smashing it repeatedly into the barrier with thunderous impacts that echoed like the roar of a great quake. His fists moved with blinding speed and devastating precision, delivering punches that carved energy arcs through the air, each blow striking the wall with the force of a cataclysmic storm.
Old Man Jin, equally resolute, combined a barrage of sword strikes infused with the swirling spiritual energy of the Moon Shadow Sect's techniques, launching a flurry of razor-sharp mirages that danced and collided against the dome's shimmering wall.
Despite their combined onslaught, the dome stood resolute and unyielding. The barrier absorbed each impact, rippling only faintly beneath their might—its cosmic threads repairing any scratch or crack as swiftly as it was inflicted. The merciless veil showed no cracks, no signs of breaking.
As the battle waged on, a charged silence settled for fleeting moments between assaults, marked only by the labored breaths of the two old men, their eyes locked on the invincible dome. Neither Jin nor Wei spoke, bound by the grim realization that no matter how fiercely they fought, the dome refused to surrender.
The battlefield was a testament to their fury and frustration—a landscape undone, a world reshaped by their determination. But the dome, a fortress of refined law and incomprehensible power, held fast—a silent guardian and prison to the secrets sealed within.
The air around the dome was heavy with the echoes of their relentless assault, the earth scarred and twisted beneath the immense power wielded by Old Man Jin and Old Man Wei. Each strike hammered against the barrier like a titan's fist, yet the dome held firm—unyielding and resolute as a manifestation of cosmic laws.
Old Man Wei paused briefly, wiping sweat from his brow, his gaze lingering on the shimmering forcefield that wrapped the dome like an impenetrable veil. He breathed deeply and finally spoke, voice carrying the weight of grudging respect.
"Old Jin," Wei said, voice low and steady, "this barrier… it is worthy of being refined by Lord Heavenly Law."
Jin glanced over at his companion, lips curling into a sharp, almost amused snarl. "Tch," he replied, "the only thing that old fox—Wang Zhen—has good going for himself is his mastery over fragments of threads of laws." Their words hung in the charged air, a mixture of acknowledgment and veiled disdain.
The barrier was no simple wall—it was an artifact of precise and ruthless craftsmanship, an extension of Wang Zhen's formidable control over the sacred laws that governed their existence.
Yet beneath their respect lay a simmering frustration. Both men knew that this mastery over the strands of reality was the key to Wang Zhen's enduring power, the very cornerstone that guarded the dome's secrets and prisoners.
They exchanged a knowing glance—silent comrades bound by equal parts rivalry and shared purpose. "His skill with laws is what keeps this dome locked tight," Jin continued, eyes narrowing, "but it also means that breaking it will take more than brute force. It will require strategy, patience, and perhaps a touch of cunning that even he may not expect."
Wei nodded solemnly in agreement.
Old Man Jin and Old Man Wei were not aware that Wang Zhen is not dead, and instead is preparing to break through the Deity Transformation. If they did, there's no way they'd conceal their power, and would try to break the dome as quickly as possible.
...
Far away from the immense dome, atop a jagged precipice overlooking the sprawling forests below, the supreme elder of the Fire Alliance, Shin Stalin, materialized. His stature was imposing, a one-star cultivator of the exalted Soul Transformation realm, radiating a fierce aura that bent the air around him. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the turbulent scene in the distance—the massive dome, battered but unyielding despite the chaos surrounding it.
His brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "What in the world is happening here? Why are there Peak Seven Star Deity Formation cultivators from a Rank Five country meddling in this place?" he pondered silently, weighing the gravity of the events unfolding.
One by one, four grand elders of the Fire Alliance appeared beside him, materializing in a swirl of spiritual energy. They were seasoned warriors and strategists, each bearing the marks of their ranks and experience. Alongside them slightly-bowed six figures—nascent souls, raw yet earnest, awaiting orders.
The first grand elder to speak was Zhao Mo, a six-star cultivator of the Soul Formation realm. His voice trembled with urgency as he sought guidance. "Supreme Elder, what is happening here? The dome is under siege!" His eyes darted to Shin Stalin, silently urging for clarity.
Shin Stalin's gaze hardened, and his voice was steady, authoritative. "Zhao Mo, those two cultivators you see—they are Peak Seven Star Deity Transformations. They are trying to breach the dome."
The second grand elder, Shang Fan—five-star Soul Formation—reacted sharply. "What?! Two Deity Formation cultivators? Are they from a Rank Five country? What shall we do now? Do we abandon Lord Hizler and retreat?"
The tension in the air was thick, the gravity of their dilemma manifest. However, Shin Stalin's voice cut through the rising fears with resolute calm. "This situation might not be entirely adverse. If these cultivators succeed in breaking the dome, the path will open for us to enter—and we can retrieve Hizler and escape."
A moment of heavy contemplation passed as the grand elders and nascent souls absorbed this possibility—an unexpected twist in their arduous plight.
Under the silent command of their supreme elder, all lowered their heads, exchanged nods of quiet understanding, and fell into a solemn silence—each aware of the dangerous gamble the moment demanded.
...
Inside the shadowy depths of the cave, Wang Zhen's body convulsed violently as his screams tore through the silence—a roar not merely of pain, but of transformation beyond mortal comprehension. The anguished cry echoed endlessly: "AÆÆÆÃÂEÅĀÅÀAAAA!!!"
His flesh, muscles, and skin had already undergone excruciating metamorphosis, laying the groundwork for the final, most brutal phase. Now, the true torment began.
Within his body, all 210 bones cracked and fractured—one by agonizing one—like a symphony of destruction and rebirth. It was a never-ending cascade, a relentless dismantling that shattered the calcium-white framework he once knew.
He had 210 bones because of an extra pinky finger on his left hand.
Each splitting bone was then enveloped in a molten silver-black fluid, a seemingly living metal that flowed and twisted like fiery mercury. This molten essence dissolved his skeleton piece by piece, only to reconstruct it anew in a far more formidable and otherworldly form.
The dark iron-silver coat materialized upon his bones, a gleaming armor forged in the crucible of transformation, surpassing anything forged by mortal hands. Each plated bone radiated a cold, impenetrable resilience—a perfect blend of strength and flexibility.
Every moment was an agony intensified by the ruthless nature of Deity Transformation. The more talented the cultivator, the deeper the pain it wrought—a merciless rite of passage reserved for only those destined to challenge the heavens.
Wang Zhen's screams reverberated, a testament to his indomitable will—even as every fiber of his being was torn apart and remade, the ancient prestige of Deity Transformation demanded unflinching endurance.
In this crucible of torment, the beginnings of godhood forged anew—and Wang Zhen, battered beyond measure, remained locked in the relentless grip of his ascent.
One by one, under the relentless guidance of the molten iron-silver liquid, each of Wang Zhen's bones reconstructed themselves with precision. The once fragile calcium-white skeleton transformed into a formidable frame of shimmering iron silver—unyielding, sharp-edged, and pulsating with latent power. His entire skeletal structure now gleamed with the cold radiance of metal, save for one last element: his skull.
As the agonizing transformation reached this final barrier, a pain so intense struck Wang Zhen that it stole even his ability to scream. Every bone of his skull cracked and fractured, but unlike the others, it shattered completely into fine dust, dissipating into the swirling iron-silver liquid.
The liquid absorbed the remnants of bone dust and began the delicate process of reconstructing the skull anew. Layer by layer, the molten metal reformed into a sleek, impenetrable mask of bone and iron, designed to guard his mind with an unbreakable fortress.
This final phase of the transformation was the most excruciating, demanding every shred of Wang Zhen's consciousness to endure the torment and submit to the will of Deity Transformation—a crucible from which only the most determined could emerge.
Though the agony raged around and within him, with every shifting detail of his reborn body, Wang Zhen was forging his path toward godhood, shattering the mortal chains that had bound him for centuries.
Now only the final step was remaining.
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----