As Meng Meng's soul slowly began to fade, his final thoughts were of Meng Ping and his family. His essence dissipated, and his soul orb—once glowing brightly—began to dim. One star, then two, then three... until seven stars vanished, drawn into the formation.
In the world of cultivation, power is ranked by the number of stars on one's soul orb. With seven stars lost, Meng Meng's consciousness flickered out completely.
The Third Ancestor let out a maniacal laugh, his voice echoing across the mountain as he stared into the heart of the formation.
Once again, he laughed, his madness intensifying. The heavens responded with a roar. An earth-shattering sound echoed from the skies, and the weather turned unnatural. A storm brewed—a storm of thunder and fury. The sky turned blood-red, and the clouds scattered violently. A terrifying tribulation descended from the highest heavens.
The ancestor's face twisted in horror as a bolt of heavenly lightning streaked toward him. In a panic, he summoned a barrier. Cold sweat dripped from his brow as he stared at the sky, roaring in defiance. The earth trembled—mountains shattered in the distance.
Disciples and elders of the sect felt the overwhelming energy surge. Alarmed, they rushed to the source of the disturbance: the domain of the Third Ancestor.
Then, the sky cracked open.
A massive portal appeared, and from it descended an old man cloaked in divine light. He examined the great formation and stroked his long beard thoughtfully. With calm authority, he raised a single finger—the legendary Eighth Demonic Finger.
A beam of radiant energy burst forth from his hand, thundering like a raging storm. It struck the formation directly.
BOOM!
The Second Ancestor stroked his beard and smiled proudly. "Third Brother…"
But before he could finish, a violent surge of death energy erupted from the explosion.
Thousands of ethereal chains shot out from the shattered formation. They wrapped around the disciples, ripping their souls from their bodies. Screams echoed as countless souls were absorbed into the formation's core.
The formation, now sentient and wrathful, lashed out at the Second Ancestor. But he escaped—barely
The Second Ancestor stroked his long beard, pride gleaming in his eyes. "Third Brother," he said with satisfaction. But before his voice could echo for long, a sudden burst of death energy exploded from deep within the great formation.
Thousands of spectral chains erupted from the earth, born from the ancient array. They shot forward like hungry serpents, entangling every disciple within the sect. Screams filled the air as their souls were ripped from their bodies—each one absorbed into the heart of the formation. The formation pulsed and groaned, growing darker with every soul it devoured.
Even the Second Ancestor was caught in its grasp—but just as the chains closed in, he let out a cold snort and vanished, escaping through an unknown technique, his figure dissolving into the void like mist at dawn.
The Third Ancestor was not so lucky. His face turned pale and twisted in disbelief. Blood gushed from his mouth, staining his robes a deep crimson. His eyes were wild, bloodshot. Then—he laughed.
But the laughter was cut short.
A sharp attack landed squarely on his back. He staggered, eyes wide, turning with trembling hands to see the one who had struck him. But before he could speak, a silent palm sealed his mouth shut.
His pupils shrank with horror.
"F–first brother...?" he mumbled through bloody lips, voice muffled and broken.
No answer came.
Only silence—and betrayal.
His vision dimmed. A chain slithered from the formation and wrapped around his fading soul. His body collapsed as his essence was drawn into the array, swallowed like the others.
Then, from the depths of the formation, a low hum echoed as a burst of energy rippled out. At its center, where darkness reigned, the remains of Meng Meng began to stir. Within the shattered remnants of his soul, a dim star flickered—gently orbiting the core of his soul orb.
His will, though battered, had not been extinguished.
His final desire... to see Meng Ping one last time.
But just as the thought emerged, an otherworldly sound pierced through the emptiness of his mind. It was not speech. It was not noise.
It was a calling.
Something ancient... and hungry