[World of "The Path to Nine Heavens" · Sea of Wuwang · Peak of the Final Battle]
The wind screamed across the pitch-black sea, carrying the stench of iron and death.
Crimson lightning split the heavens. Below, the waters churned with the bodies of the fallen—cultivators and demons alike, their blood turning the waves into rivers of rust. Tens of thousands of immortal sect disciples clashed with the demonic army, their battle cries shaking the very foundations of existence. Swords sang. Spells exploded. Beasts roared their last breaths.
This was the war that would decide the fate of all three realms.
And at the apex of this mountain of corpses, far above the chaos, two figures faced each other across the void.
One stood in robes white as freshly fallen snow, untouched by the carnage below. He gripped his bonded spirit sword "Frost's Edge," its blade humming with centuries of accumulated killing intent. Cold phoenix eyes stared forward, beautiful and merciless, holding nothing but absolute resolve.
This was the leader of the immortal sects, the supreme Sword Sovereign of the immortal realm—Xie Qingyan.
The other wore black robes stained with blood that was not his own, standing barefoot upon empty air as if gravity itself dared not touch him. A careless smile played at his lips, lazy and dangerous.
He was the Demon Sovereign of the Nine Hells, the calamity that had haunted the cultivation world for centuries—Yin Wuwang.
"Yin Wuwang."
Xie Qingyan's voice cut through the howling wind, hoarse from days of battle. "Today, you die."
His sword hand trembled—not from fear, but from the price he had paid. He had burned a hundred years of his lifespan to reach this moment. One hundred years of existence, sacrificed for the power to end this war.
It's finally over.
He had not failed his master's dying wish. Kill the demon before him, and the world would know peace at last.
So why did his heart feel so hollow? Why did some treacherous part of him hesitate?
Yin Wuwang gazed at the man across from him—this man he had loved in silence, in madness, in despair.
Fuguang.
That was his courtesy name. "Supporting Light." How fitting. How cruel.
Something soft flickered in the depths of Yin Wuwang's eyes, there and gone like a shooting star.
Burning a century of his life just to kill me? Does Fuguang truly hate me this much?
The war he had started—not for power, not for conquest, but simply because he couldn't bear being forgotten. Because being Xie Qingyan's enemy was better than being nothing to him at all.
Pathetic. And this is how it ends.
This tedious life... Fine. Dying by his hand... that's not so bad.
Yin Wuwang spread his arms wide, a strange, seductive smile curling at his lips—all dark charm and careless elegance. "Such bold words from the Sword Sovereign. You want this sovereign's life?" His voice dropped, almost gentle. "Come and take it—if you can."
"Die!"
Xie Qingyan exploded forward, becoming a streak of silver light. His strike carried the weight of centuries of cultivation, enough force to shatter mountains, to split the heavens themselves.
The blade plunged toward Yin Wuwang's heart.
Unavoidable.
Inescapable.
And Yin Wuwang didn't move.
Squelch—!
The wet sound of steel meeting flesh.
Frost's Edge buried itself to the hilt in the Demon Sovereign's chest, piercing straight through his heart.
Yin Wuwang looked down at Xie Qingyan, now close enough that he could count his eyelashes. Close enough to see the faint shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his lips pressed together like he was holding something back.
Beautiful. Even now.
A smile of release crossed the demon's face. "Fuguang... you win."
Xie Qingyan's brow furrowed. Something was wrong.
The Demon Sovereign—the most powerful being in the demonic realm, the calamity who had slaughtered his way through countless battlefields—hadn't even tried to dodge. Hadn't raised a single defense.
He wanted to die.
The realization struck him. A strange unease rose unbidden, an emotion that had no place on a battlefield, a feeling he couldn't name—
Why? Why does this feel wrong? Why do I—
His lips parted, words forming—
Bzzt... bzzzzt...
A bizarre crackling sound exploded across heaven and earth, cutting through his thoughts.
The blood flowing from Yin Wuwang's chest wound began to change. It didn't drip—it dissolved, breaking apart into cascading black characters that tumbled downward like broken code.
[Yin Wuwang coughed blood and collapsed—]
The words fell and scattered, meaningless symbols against the void.
Then Xie Qingyan noticed the silence.
The battlefield had stopped.
The cultivator frozen mid-swing. The demon beast suspended mid-roar. The wave hanging motionless in the air. Ten thousand warriors locked in place like figures in a painting, their colors slowly bleeding away into grey.
"What..." Xie Qingyan looked around, his analytical mind racing even as his heart pounded. "What is this? A time-space technique? A forbidden seal?"
No. This didn't feel like any technique. This felt like reality itself was breaking down. Like the world had simply... stopped being real.
CRACK.
The storm-clouded sky above them split open.
Through the rift poured infinite blackness and streams of sickly green light. And from that void emerged a hand—massive beyond comprehension, formed entirely of ink-brush strokes, each finger the size of a mountain. Its palm alone eclipsed the entire Sea of Wuwang, casting a shadow over the frozen apocalypse below.
An ancient, bone-tired voice boomed like thunder:
"Enough! Stop fighting already! The author got hit by a car and ended up in the hospital. This novel's been abandoned."
Xie Qingyan's face twisted.
Author? Novel? Abandoned?
What madness was this giant hand spouting? What kind of illusion technique tried to shake its victim's conviction with such obvious nonsense?
How dare it disturb his Dao heart!
"What manner of demon are you?!"
In fury, he ripped his sword free from Yin Wuwang's chest and slashed upward. A rainbow of sword light, carrying centuries of cultivation, shot toward the impossible hand.
"Demon?" The voice dripped with the bone-deep exhaustion of an overworked bureaucrat. "The world is literally falling apart and you're still trying to finish the finale? Forget it—come with me. Mending Heaven Station needs some temp workers."
The ink-formed hand reached down.
Two fingers.
A casual pinch.
Like grabbing toys from a claw machine.
"Ahhh—!"
Two beings who stood at the absolute pinnacle of the cultivation world were lifted away without the slightest resistance.
Dignity? What dignity?
[End of V1_Chapter 01]
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Two figures crash-land onto hard ground. The Sword Deity draws his blade at an old man picking his feet. Welcome to Mending Heaven Station—where everything you thought you knew is a lie.