East of the Primordial World lies an endless expanse of ocean.
Who still remembers its former glory? A realm of boundless turquoise waves, where fishing songs echoed at dusk. The aquatic clans of the East China Sea sang and danced beneath coral forests, with pearls glowing like lanterns—a scene of perfect peace and prosperity.
But today, this sea that nurtured countless lives has become a Shura field of mountains of corpses and seas of blood. The slaughter on the East China Sea defense line is even more brutal and solemn than the fierce battles in the Western Wasteland.
There is no retreat here. Behind the warriors lie the lives of billions of clansmen, and the last barrier guarding the eastern edge of the Primordial World.
Dark clouds loom over the East China Sea like ink, blotted out the light of sun, moon, and stars. Not a glimmer of light remains between heaven and earth. Only the black-red halo of feral aura flickers on the sea surface, dyeing the entire expanse like congealed blood.
The once crystal-clear waters have long been churned into murky crimson by the black blood of ferocious beasts and the red blood of warriors from all clans. The waves roll and heave, bubbling and churning like boiling blood porridge. Every spray of foam carries a pungent stench of blood and decay, searing the lungs like fire when inhaled.
The sea surface is covered with a dense carpet of corpses, layer upon layer, stretching across half the battlefield. There are broken scales of the East China Sea aquatic clans—cracks from Qiongqi's claws still gouged in the cyan-blue giant whale scales.
There are severed limbs and claws of ferocious beasts, their black-red flesh already stiff, yet still oozing a sickening feral aura. There are also shattered remains of unknown tribes—tiny limbs, broken carapaces—bobbing up and down with the waves, silently telling the tale of the battle's cruelty.
Occasionally, a lucky fish or shrimp swims near the corpses, only to be instantly corrupted by the lingering feral aura. It flips belly-up and sinks to the seabed, becoming yet another part of this sea of blood.
Black-red feral aura surges endlessly from Qiongqi's body, like boiling ink. It sinks to the seabed, then billows back up. Wherever it passes, hard coral reefs are riddled with holes, crumbling into fine powder that drifts slowly downward.
The roots of thousand-year-old ancient trees, bleached white by the seawater, wither instantly upon contact with the feral aura, snapping into pieces. Even the thousand-year-old seabed in the deep sea is carved with trenches by the feral aura.
Black-red veins spread like a spiderweb, as if the lifeblood of the East China Sea is being gnawed away bit by bit.
The spiritual energy between heaven and earth has long been wrapped and corrupted by ferocity, becoming stagnant and sluggish—even carrying a bone-chilling cold and tyranny.
A single breath of it is enough to send ordinary aquatic creatures into spiritual chaos, making them bleed from their seven orifices and die. The warriors of all clans holding the line can only circulate their own spiritual power to form protective shields, struggling to resist the erosion of feral aura.
Yet the glow of these shields flickers like dying candle flames in the wind, ready to be snuffed out at any moment.
The spiritual light of the Azure Dragon Sea-Suppressing Formation is the only beacon of hope in this boundless darkness and ferocity. This defense line, built by the myriad clans of the East China Sea with a century of painstaking effort and countless reserves of spiritual power, is rooted in the Azure Dragon Spiritual Vein deep in the sea.
It converges the collective will of all clans, and was once impenetrable as a fortress of gold. But now, under Qiongqi's frenzied assaults, the spiritual light flickers precariously. The cyan-gold light membrane is crisscrossed with spiderweb-like cracks, every tremor a death rattle.
Above the formation's eye, a Qiongqi over ten thousand zhang long slams its claws—wreathed in feral aura capable of tearing the void—into the formation's light for the third time.
This ferocious beast of the Primordial World is a manifestation of ancient ferocity. Its body is covered in black-red scales, each one glinting like black iron forged with malice, shimmering with a cold luster. Thick black blood seeps continuously from the gaps between the scales, dripping into the seawater.
It instantly turns the surrounding water black, hissing as it corrodes everything it touches.
Its head resembles that of a tiger or leopard, yet it bears a pair of twisted ox horns, coiled with black-red feral aura—as if countless vengeful souls wail within them. There is no trace of reason in its blood-red eyes, only homicidal madness and a desire for destruction.
It stares fixedly at Jing Cang at the formation's eye, as if it intends to devour him alive. Its four limbs are as thick as heaven-pillars, its claws glinting with a metallic cold light. Every swipe tears through the air with a shrill screech, splitting the heavy seawater into a deep trench that lingers, unhealed, for a long time.
At the formation's eye, Jing Cang, clan leader of the Giant Whale Clan, struggles to hold the line. His three-thousand-zhang-long body is covered in thick cyan-blue dorsal armor—once the pride of the Giant Whale Clan, as hard as diamond, capable of resisting the erosion of all magic.
But now, the smooth armor is crisscrossed with cracks of varying depths. Pieces of it have fallen off in many places, revealing flesh oozing golden blood beneath. The flesh is still marked with charred black scars from the burning feral aura.
Jing Cang's breath is heavy and ragged, every gasp bringing up golden blood foam that trickles from the corner of his mouth. His eyes are bloodshot, locked onto the approaching Qiongqi. The water fortune power around his body circulates wildly, trying to reinforce the spiritual light of the formation's eye.
As one of the leaders of the East China Sea's myriad clans, he carries the vitality of the entire sea on his shoulders. Even if it costs him his life, he will never retreat a single step.
"Roar——" Qiongqi lets out a roar that shakes heaven and earth. The feral light in its blood-red eyes flares, and its claws gather the power to tear the void once more, slamming toward the spiritual light of the Azure Dragon Sea-Suppressing Formation with greater ferocity than ever before.
This strike is more violent than the previous two, as if it intends to crush the entire East China Sea into collapse.
Seeing Qiongqi charge again, Jing Cang suddenly opens his massive mouth, pouring all his spiritual power into a skyful of blue water arrows. Condensed with the purest water fortune power of the East China Sea, each arrow is over a zhang long, its tip glinting with icy spiritual light.
They pour down on Qiongqi like the Heavenly River cascading—no ordinary water arrows, but carriers of the Giant Whale Clan's unyielding will, vowing to stop this ferocious beast before the formation.
But Qiongqi's ferocity far exceeds the imagination of the East China Sea's myriad clans. Faced with the skyful of cascading arrows, it merely curls its lips in disdain, then swings its claws violently.
With a deafening bang, like thunder splitting the sky above the East China Sea, the skyful of water arrows are shattered completely, turning into a mist of water droplets. The mist dissolves instantly under the erosion of feral aura, leaving not even a ripple behind.
The claws' momentum remains unabated, carrying the power to destroy heaven and earth as they slam heavily into the spiritual light of the Azure Dragon Sea-Suppressing Formation.
"Crack——" A crisp sound rings out. The spiritual light of the formation's eye trembles violently. The cyan-gold radiance dims by more than half in an instant, and the cracks on the light membrane widen further, as if they will shatter completely in the next second.
The violent recoil force surges through the spiritual light into Jing Cang's body. He lets out a muffled groan, and a deep gash splits open on his thick dorsal armor instantly—deep enough to see the bone. Golden blood drips down through the cracks like a spring, dyeing a large area of the sea below red.
This golden blood contains the pure vitality of the Giant Whale Clan. When it falls into the seawater, it stirs a faint ripple in the surrounding water corrupted by feral aura—only to be quickly swallowed up by the endless surging black demon aura.
The smell of blood drives Qiongqi into even greater frenzy. Its blood-red eyes lock onto Jing Cang, and it lets out a low roar from its throat, as if announcing the next fatal strike.
Behind Jing Cang, three hundred Giant Whale warriors stand in neat formation. Each is a thousand zhang long, like moving mountains, rooted firmly in the seawater. At that moment, they press their huge heads against the base of the formation's eye, channeling the impact force from Qiongqi's attacks continuously into the deep sea.
This is an extremely arduous task. Every transmission of impact force feels like a mountain of ten thousand jun slamming into their skulls, sending their blood surging and making them bleed from their seven orifices.
The heads of many Giant Whale warriors have been eroded by feral aura. Their once smooth skin turns charred and cracked, even revealing gleaming white bones underneath. Yet not a single giant whale retreats a step.
Their eyes are filled with unwavering resolve—for behind them lie the homes of countless aquatic clans of the East China Sea, the wounded recuperating in the Abyss of Returning Spirits, and the very vitality of the entire East China Sea. They are the guardians of the East China Sea, the barrier of the myriad clans. Even if it costs them their lives, they will hold this last line of defense.
One young Giant Whale warrior is barely three hundred years old—still not fully grown. The flesh on his head has been completely corroded by feral aura, leaving his gleaming white bones exposed. Golden blood gushes from his eye sockets and nostrils, merging into the seawater.
His tail trembles slightly, clearly unable to bear such immense pain, yet he still presses his head firmly against the base, refusing to move an inch. His mind fills with memories of the clan's young cubs frolicking and playing, of the elders' earnest teachings.
"Hold the formation's eye. Defend the East China Sea..." He murmurs silently in his heart, until his last breath fades away. His body slowly topples over, swept away by the waves—without leaving a single last word behind.
Not far away stands an elderly Giant Whale warrior, his dorsal armor covered with traces of time—the glories of a lifetime of battles. At this moment, one of his fins has been corroded and severed by feral aura, golden blood gushing out continuously.
Yet he still clings tightly to the base of the formation's eye with his remaining fin, pressing his head against the impact force as he chants the Giant Whale Clan's war hymn continuously. The hymn echoes low and solemn across the sea of blood, inspiring every warrior around him.
Suddenly, a violent surge of impact force hits. His skull shatters instantly, and golden blood and brain matter spray out, dyeing the surrounding seawater red. Yet his body remains in the posture of pressing against the base—like an eternal monument.
Such sacrifices happen every moment. Of the three hundred Giant Whale warriors, nearly a hundred have fallen by now, but the remaining warriors grit their teeth and hold on, forming a second line of defense with their bodies.
Their golden blood dyes the seawater around the formation's eye red, creating a golden sea of blood that collides and intertwines with Qiongqi's black demon aura endlessly, hissing and sizzling with each clash.
"I am Jing Cang, clan leader of the Giant Whale Clan! To break my Azure Dragon Formation, you must first step over my corpse!"