The creatures of the dark world retreated, leaving the land scarred and desolate. The mountains, rivers, and all things eroded still bore traces of faint black residue.
This was an inland sea, deep within the continent yet connected to the outer oceans. It was pitch-black, silent as death.
Shi Hao sat on a cliff, holding a fishing rod forged from purple copper essence. For months, he had cast his divine sense in all directions, observing the ebb and flow of the Great Dao, sensing the pulse of the world, and uncovering fragments of truth from both sea and land.
The living beings had diminished, but they still remained—weaker, at least, with no Dark Supremes left behind. The true denizens of the dark world had taken them away.
Those left behind ranged from cultivators at the Dunyi Realm to ordinary mortals—abandoned, forsaken.
Decades had passed, and these beings were no longer ignorant. They had developed their own consciousness, with some of the stronger ones indistinguishable from normal people.
What sent chills down Shi Hao’s spine was that these self-aware beings were all steeped in sorrow, lamenting with regret and endless grief.
They longed for their homeland, missed their families.
In their eyes, they were the victims—exploited, slaughtered, their homes seized, their lands destroyed by the beings of the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths.
In their perception, the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths had once been their homeland, but now more than half had been forcibly taken. Their own mighty clans had been defeated and driven from this great world.
Their ancestral lands had been overrun by devils, their homes lost, leaving only shattered remnants of their once-glorious world.
Fortunately, those devils had also suffered heavy losses. A group of demon kings had been forced to cease their bloody invasion, at least for now.
This was the current reality—their truth.
Shi Hao sat in stunned silence. The dark erosion had twisted the very essence of this land. The corpses that had gained consciousness bore this terrifying imprint of memory, and that memory had become their reality.
These dark beings raged, mourned, and roared, convinced they were the victims who had lost too much.
At this moment, Shi Hao felt an inexplicable chill crawl over him. This “truth” was cruel beyond measure, shaking him to his core, his brows furrowed deeply.
And then, memories of the past surfaced.
He remembered his first accidental journey into the foreign realm—at the Imperial Pass, carried by the Cauldron of Primordial Chaos into an ancient, eerie world.
That had been the outskirts of the foreign realm, its borderlands.
There, beings similar to those of the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths existed, but their thoughts and feelings were entirely different. They believed *they* were the ones fighting devils, the true victims.
Mo Dao, a young genius of the foreign realm who had cultivated three strands of immortal energy, had once been subdued by Shi Hao. He had come from that land.
Though Shi Hao had conquered him, Mo Dao had never changed his beliefs, insisting that in ancient times, they had been slaughtered and invaded, forced into war with the Nine Heavens.
Different eras, different lands, different beings—yet the same old story.
It was like a cycle, replaying the tragedies of the past.
Sitting on the cliff, Shi Hao pondered the past and present. He had glimpsed the truth, and it was horrifying.
*Bang!*
With a sudden jerk of his fishing rod, the golden line tightened. Then, an ancient flood dragon, thick as a mountain ridge, burst from the water, its monstrous head raised high as it transformed into a streak of black light, lunging at Shi Hao.
Dunyi Realm!
With a flick of his finger, Shi Hao sent the flood dragon—its massive form filling the sky, lightning crackling around it, wreathed in chaotic energy—spitting blood before shrinking and plummeting downward.
Shi Hao pinched it between two fingers, scrutinizing it closely. “You’ve forgotten everything, as if possessed. You think *we* are the devils, and *you* the victims, don’t you?”
“You devil!” The flood dragon, strong and self-aware, no longer ignorant, “knew” its enemy.
Shi Hao sighed, his interest waning, and tossed it back into the black sea. With a splash, it reverted to its true form, crashing like a mountain ridge and sending towering waves into the sky.
“So even the so-called foreign realm is steeped in darkness, tainted by their influence.”
The foreign realm had expanded, seizing vast territories of the Nine Heavens. Yet now, the displaced beings saw the people of the Imperial Pass as the devils.
The past had finally surfaced.
Then he thought of Yu Tuo, the Immortal King of the foreign realm. Rumors claimed he was a supreme dark evolver, risen from the abyss.
Now, many truths were coming to light.
Even the foreign realm—likely half or more of its ancient ancestors had emerged from darkness…
Shi Hao recalled the words of the Forbidden Master. Back then, the dark corruption had only just begun seeping into the Three Thousand Provinces, its signs faint. He had sought answers from that lingering soul.
The Forbidden Master had warned him—the truth was far more terrifying than he imagined, and ignorance was better. Knowing would shatter the faith of the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths.
At the time, he hadn’t understood. Now, having glimpsed part of the truth, he fell silent.
Even the foreign realm was tied to darkness. Yu Tuo, an invincible being, had risen from the abyss. Could anything be more sinister?
The Nine Heavens had fallen to the foreign realm long ago—and that was only a fraction of the dark forces.
*Crack!*
The Nine Heavens and Ten Earths collided in full. The Age of End had truly arrived, unleashing terrifying upheavals from this day forth.
*Boom!*
Even the cliff beneath Shi Hao shattered, unable to contain the uncontrolled power surging within him.
*Swoosh!*
A blade descended from the heavens—gleaming, icy, severing the sky, shattering eternity, dragging down stars in its wake.
One by one, celestial bodies plummeted, only to explode into dust as they neared the sea.
Stars crumbled, the void beyond torn asunder. Centered on Shi Hao and the blade, dark fissures weaved through the cosmos, threatening to annihilate the heavens.
The Age of End had come. The will of heaven was a merciless blade, striking down without mercy.
Most could not see this blade—it was formless, a vessel of the Dao. Only those it targeted witnessed its blinding edge.
This strike was terrifying.
*Clang!*
Shi Hao countered. In an instant, his fist transformed—from the Kun Peng’s might to the Samsara’s cycle, then the True Phoenix’s wings, a heaven-shaking palm, and finally the Thunder Emperor’s seal, striking back at the heavens.
His body trembled violently. The cliff beneath him turned to sand, and the black sea evaporated, leaving a vast basin in its place.
*Boom! Boom! Boom!*
Stellar debris rained down, some exploding midair, others crashing into the basin, fracturing the earth.
The first wave of the Age of End had struck—a single slash aimed at Shi Hao, which he withstood unharmed. But the heavens had been ravaged.
Simultaneously, every cultivator in this world was struck by the same blade, without exception—though the severity varied.
Even so, the casualties were staggering.
One in ten cultivators perished instantly, slain by the will of heaven.
“What is this? Why so cruel? The Age of End is merciless!” someone screamed, face drained of color, gripped by terror.
“The Great Dao recoils. The heavens reject cultivation. This is why even the Immortal Domain withdrew. We are in the worst of times!”
That same day, another tenth of cultivators fell from their realms, their cultivation crippled—a devastating blow from the Dao.
“The true horror of the Age of End isn’t the stabilized environment where cultivation is impossible—it’s the relentless, merciless strikes of the Dao and the heavens’ backlash as it arrives.”
The repercussions continued, and this was only the beginning.
Days later, countless aged cultivators began passing away—some from old wounds, others from withered vitality, many simply dying without cause.
People realized the Age of End was no idle threat. Lifespans were shrinking, and the older generation would soon fade.
“In the golden age, true immortals walked the mortal realm, and immortal kings were seen. Yet we missed it all. And now—ha! First, the Immortal Kings breached the pass. Then came the dark corruption. Now, the Age of End. Life is but a fleeting dream. Why not embrace reincarnation? Let this life be but a nightmare. Farewell, wretched era!”
One laughed madly, having lived a million years, once vigorous—now aged centuries in a single day.
Like him, many were rapidly burning out.
The terrifying influence persisted. The world grew ever more hostile, the heavens devouring all, draining the innate essence of existence.
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