A steel rod swept through the sky, shattering the heavens as it struck toward the monstrous avian’s head—larger than any ancient mountain—intending to paint the air with a shower of crimson blossoms. Yet, the ferocious bird was far too powerful. With a single beat of its wings, it tore through the firmament and vanished in an instant, evading the strike. Despite its colossal size, it moved with terrifying agility and divine speed.
“Such savagery—do you not fear the wrath of Heaven?” A voice echoed from the mist as the iron rod lashed out again.
“What is Heaven to me? The heavens themselves cannot claim me!” The monstrous bird’s massive form blotted out the sky, its wings beating with such force that the very earth trembled, threatening to split apart. A tempest raged, plunging the world into darkness.
The avian unleashed its Treasure Spell, its demonic might shaking the world. A mournful wail, as if from the depths of the Netherworld, heralded the descent of countless black feathers, each inscribed with dreadful Glyphs. They rained down like the end of the world, hurtling toward the wielder of the iron rod.
A fierce battle erupted anew. The rod pierced the heavens, clashing against the endless storm of black feathers. Brilliant light erupted as spells collided, shaking the earth and scattering the clouds.
“Shh!” A surge of dark radiance coalesced, the feathers merging into a monstrous black furnace—taller than a thousand mountains—looming over the land. The Devouring Roc had woven its demonic feathers and Glyphs into this abyssal forge, its hum resonating as it sought to swallow the iron-wielding warrior whole.
“Boom!” A golden light erupted from the warrior’s brow, his third eye blazing as Glyphs surged forth, forming a peerless immortal sword that slashed toward the black furnace.
This was a battle of life and death, fought with unrelenting fury.
Elsewhere, a crimson bird clashed with a colossal beast, their battle a storm of fire and rending claws. The earth trembled beneath their struggle as they tore across the land, their war expanding with every passing moment.
On the ground, the once-prosperous Thunder Clan had been reduced to ruins. Cities stood empty, their millions devoured by the Devouring Roc in a single gulp—a calamity beyond reckoning.
The four supreme beings had moved on, leaving devastation in their wake. A mere gust of wind toppled dozens of great cities, reducing them to rubble. The Thunder Clan, once rulers of this land, had vanished into the annals of history.
“Within a hundred thousand miles, no life shall remain. Only when the rivers run red with blood will this land be truly beautiful!” The towering beast, shrouded in mist, spoke with chilling finality, its emerald eyes gleaming with murderous intent.
It commanded the hordes, and it acted. Breaking free from the crimson bird’s pursuit, it surged toward the horizon.
“Heavens, what monstrosity is this?” In the territory of another noble clan, the Zi Shan Clan watched in horror as a pair of lake-sized emerald eyes drew near, suffocating them with sheer presence.
“Whoosh!” The crimson bird unleashed a radiant slash, a divine flame birthing a scarlet immortal sword aimed at the beast. But it was too late.
The towering creature opened its maw—a crimson abyss—and swallowed everything.
“No! How can such a beast exist?” The Zi Shan Clan’s capital was torn from the earth, its walls and palaces crumbling as millions were drawn into that bloody gullet.
The crimson bird hesitated, knowing that even the slightest touch would reduce the fragile humans to mist. A wave of demonic light swept across the land, dragging countless souls into the beast’s maw. Even the clan’s mighty guardian spirit was torn apart, its essence consumed.
True annihilation.
The Zi Shan bloodline was extinguished—save for their absent lord, none remained.
The crimson bird burned with fury, but its hands were tied. The beast, however, knew no restraint, feasting without remorse.
A wind blew, carrying the scent of ruin. All great cities had fallen.
“Within a hundred thousand miles, no tribe, no clan, no life shall remain. Let the rivers run red!” The four supreme beings waged war, two of them roaring commands to scour the land clean.
Led by ancient direbeasts, the horde rampaged, slaughtering tribe after tribe. Rivers of blood flowed in their wake.
“Roar!” A one-armed Demon Ape, wreathed in black mist, descended upon a long-standing tribe.
“Ancient direbeasts attack!” The tribe’s warriors rushed forth, but in an instant, the ape shattered their skulls, feasting on their brains.
Their guardian spirit, a silver crocodile, emerged—only to be torn in half by the ape’s brute strength.
Soon, the beast tide swallowed the land. A tribe of hundreds of thousands was no more.
The horde grew, swelling with every mountain crossed. The earth trembled beneath their march.
“Paint this land crimson! The strongest among you shall follow me to my divine mountain!” a supreme being roared.
The beasts howled in fervor, eager for the chance to serve such a power.
The land convulsed in violence.
A great avian led a storm of winged horrors toward another tribe.
“Loose arrows!” the chieftain bellowed.
Iron shafts filled the sky, felling some of the beasts—but the leader was unstoppable. With a breath, it unleashed a sea of flame, reducing the tribe to ashes.
Within an hour, tens of thousands were gone.
“Why? Has Heaven forsaken us?” Voices cried out in despair.
Humanity had always struggled in this brutal wilderness, but now, even resistance meant annihilation.
This was a catastrophe beyond reckoning.
The Golden Wolf Tribe, the Luo Fu Marsh—all fell. The four mightiest clans were no more.
And the slaughter spread.
Winged clans, forest folk—all were erased.
As the Devouring Roc and its kin had declared: a hundred thousand miles of blood.
Ruined cities, lifeless plains, rivers of crimson.
Days later, the battle of the four supreme beings ended.
Silence.
Mountains lay shattered, the earth cracked and lifeless.
This was the truth of existence—a world of beasts, of winged terrors, of venomous things lurking in the shadows. Survival demanded endless struggle.
Tonight, the moon rose over a dead land.
The wind howled, a mournful lament.
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