The aura of the Twelve Ancestral Witches did not merely sit upon Mount Buzhou; it crushed it. The very sky seemed to sag under the weight of their combined presence, shrouding the celestial pillar in a veil of primordial dread.
The Spiritual Qi of the world went into a violent riot. Divine runes, ancient and jagged, rippled through the Void as twelve distinct, terrifying signatures ignited the stars, only to snuff them out in bursts of cosmic fire.
Across the Great Desolation, ancient beings stirred in their grottos. Eyes that had been closed for aeons snapped open, tracking the disturbance.
"Are the Witches trying to uproot Mount Buzhou itself?"
"They've finally moved... but who was mad enough to provoke all twelve?"
The North Sea.
Deep within the frigid reaches of the north, the Great Powers Yingzhao, Guiche, and Jiuying were locked in a delicate dance of persuasion with Kunpeng. After an exhaustive campaign of flattery and negotiation, the "Old Fox of the North Sea" was finally on the verge of relenting.
They were talking terms. If the price was right, Kunpeng would step forward to unify the Myriad Tribes of the world into a single force.
Kunpeng was no fool. He knew that leading the tribes brought immense karmic rewards, but it also painted a target on his back. He was weighing the crown against his life.
"Brother Kunpeng, set your mind at ease," Guiche cackled, his nine bird-heads bobbing in unison. "Once the tribes are unified, the Witch Clan will be a footnote. I don't believe for a second those twelve brutes would dare leave their halls to come knocking on our door."
Yingzhao and Jiuying nodded fervently. In their long history of skirmishes, the Twelve Ancestral Witches had never campaigned together. They were the ultimate deterrent, usually staying home to guard against a sneak attack. The "Bosses" stayed behind the curtain; the "Underlings" did the dying.
Kunpeng listened, and the logic began to take root. He was the fastest creature in existence. With his extreme speed, even if the world burned, he could simply fly beyond the flames.
He set his wine cup down and stood, a surge of heroic ambition swelling in his chest. He opened his mouth to give the word—the declaration that would change the fate of the Myriad Tribes.
Suddenly, Kunpeng froze.
His gaze pierced the Void, catching a ripple of power so subtle yet so devastating that his blood turned to slush. Across the vast distance of time and space, he felt the eruption of the Twelve.
What are those twelve lunatics doing? They're all out? Every single one?!
Kunpeng's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, but his face remained a mask of stony calm. In a heartbeat, the scales in his mind flipped.
No. Absolutely not. It's too dangerous.
If he stood up now to lead the tribes, he wouldn't be a leader—he'd be a lightning rod. If those twelve came for him, even his wings wouldn't be enough to carry him out of the shadow of their combined wrath.
Under the eager, expectant gazes of the demon generals, Kunpeng swept his sleeve with cold finality.
"See the guests out!"
"What?" Yingzhao gasped, his jaw dropping.
One moment Kunpeng looked ready to conquer the world; the next, he looked like he wanted to hide under his bed.
It didn't take long for the answer to arrive. As the tremors from Mount Buzhou finally reached the North Sea, the demon generals felt the same crushing pressure.
"The old fox wimped out," Guiche hissed, though his own nine heads were already tucked low in fear.
Elsewhere on Mount Buzhou, Nuwa and Fuxi watched the drama unfold from a safe distance. The roar of the Ancestral Witches echoed in their ears.
"All this... because of Bai Ze?" Fuxi whispered, his face pale. He knew Bai Ze had just left them. "They think he went to the Pure Ones!"
"The Witches aren't stupid, Brother," Nuwa said, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. Her phoenix eyes glinted with a sharp, cunning light. "They don't care about Bai Ze. He is just the excuse they needed to break the Pure Ones' spirit. It's a warning to the rest of us."
"Then... our promise to Bai Ze?" Fuxi asked worriedly.
"A promise made is a promise kept," Nuwa replied airily. "But I never specified when we would fulfill it."
On the slopes of East Kunlun, the time for talk had ended.
The Twelve Ancestral Witches unleashed a killing intent so cold it shattered the surrounding atmosphere. The Sanqing—Laozi, Yuanshi, and Tongtian—realized there was no path back. To flee now would be to forfeit their dignity and their claim as Pangu's heirs forever.
"Defend!" Laozi commanded.
The brothers summoned their treasures. The Sanqing Immortal Light erupted, a triple-layered shield of gold, jade, and azure that pushed back against the encroaching darkness.
In an instant, they struck.
Their combined power tore the Void asunder, shaking the very foundations of the galaxy. A rain of dying stars began to fall around the peaks of Mount Buzhou. At their level of cultivation, a single strike carried the weight of a dying universe. Had the mountain not been formed from Pangu's own spine, it would have been ground into atoms.
"Paltry tricks! Watch me shatter your world!"
Qiang Liang howled, and lightning cascaded from his jaws like a falling galaxy. With a thought, he summoned a World-Ending Tribulation. Thunder dragons, thick as rivers, coiled around the Sanqing's treasures, trying to drag them into the dirt.
"Slash!"
Tongtian's hair billowed like a storm. He swung the Qingping Sword, carving a line of absolute nothingness through the air. The Sword Qi condensed into a singular, horizontal horizon of light designed to bisect the twelve titans in one go.
"Nothing more than a breeze!" Candle Nine Nethers shouted.
His eyes burned with the Law of Time. The world stuttered. The falling star-rain began to float upward. The sword-light that had been rushing toward the Witches suddenly slowed, stopped, and then—impossibly—began to race backward, targeting the Sanqing themselves.
"My blade obeys no master but me!" Tongtian roared. He pointed his finger, and the Law of the Sword agitated the very cosmos, forming a spontaneous formation that locked onto Candle Nine Nethers.
"Seal!"
Di Jiang's voice was a whisper that carried the weight of a tomb. He waved his hand, and the power of Space buckled.
The Sanqing's eyes widened. In a heartbeat, they were no longer on Mount Buzhou. Di Jiang had surgically excised the space they occupied, dragging them into the endless, howling Void.
Astral winds tore at their robes. They were trapped in a pocket dimension—a Major Thousand World of Di Jiang's design, built for only one purpose: extinction.
Laozi, Yuanshi, and Tongtian looked at one another. The time for holding back was over. Above their heads, three distinct strands of pure, primordial Qi began to swirl and merge.
They were about to unleash their Natal Divine Ability.