Within the Hall of Longevity in the Thirty-Three Heavens.
Nuwa looked down over the battlefield, her heart seeming to be clenched tightly by a giant hand, so stifled she could barely breathe. As one left behind to hold the fort, she had not joined the battle. This was Fuxi's insistence. He said that the Way of Creation she cultivated was unsuited to becoming tainted with excessive slaughter, and that someone had to remain in the Heavenly Court to guard against unforeseen events.
The battlefield was enveloped in boundless crimson mist. Every collision between the two peerless formations was accompanied by the shattering of a star, the deaths of tens of thousands of Demon Race elites, and the Twelve Ancestral Witches' faces growing a shade paler. Wherever the aftershocks reached, the Primordial World's earth was torn apart like fragile silk brocade, mountains collapsed, rivers changed course, and countless tribes of living beings were reduced to dust in an instant, their true spirits annihilated.
She clenched the Red Embroidered Ball tightly, her knuckles turning white. Those eyes that held the beauty of creation were filled with reluctance, conflict, and a trace of indescribable fury. Why did it have to be like this?
The successive collisions between the Grand Formation of the Stars and Pangu's True Form had already exceeded everyone's limits. Maintaining formations of such immense power was an enormous drain on both the formation's arrangers and its controllers.
The Demon Race was the first to buckle and withdraw its formation. Starlight began to flicker erratically, and the formation diagram swayed violently. Amid shrill screams, countless demons had their fleshly bodies collapse under the backlash, their Primordial Spirits torn apart by rampaging stellar power. Of the thirty-six million five hundred thousand Demon Race elites, nearly ten million had already been lost.
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