The crimson sunset bathed the Primordial Earth in a thick, suffocating liquid, as if the heavens and earth were bleeding.
The wind swept by, carrying with it an intense, pungent stench of rust and desperate wails, like an invisible scythe cleaving the twilight.
The demon army surged forward like a tidal wave, carrying with it a primal and ferocious bloodlust.
"Kill! Leave no one alive! That piece of trash made of clay by the Saint Nuwa, does she even deserve to occupy such a bountiful land?"
A demon general with a hideous boar's head roared and slammed down a heavy bone hammer.
With a sickening thud, the chest of the thin human man beneath his feet collapsed instantly, his eyes nearly bursting out, and blood and foam gushing from his mouth and nose like a fountain.
"Hahaha! That's exhilarating!" The wild boar demon general laughed wildly, raising his bone hammer, which was covered in blood and flesh fragments, and pointing it at several old and weak people who were stumbling and running away in the distance.
"Men, tear them apart! Fresh meat! All fresh meat!"
"Aww!"
His response was an even more frantic howl, and several swift, ghostly figures lunged out.
A jackal demon grinned, its drool dripping from its mouth, revealing sharp white teeth, and easily pounced on a running old woman.
The old woman's withered hands futilely scratched at the jackal's rough fur, emitting a hiss that sounded inhuman:
"Holy Mother! Holy Mother God--!"
"Calling upon your ancestors won't help!"
The jackal demon growled, its stench filling the air, and its sharp teeth were already biting down hard at the old woman's fragile neck.
With a snap, the desperate cries for help came to an abrupt end, leaving only the hissing sound of splattering blood, particularly jarring in the twilight wind.
The jackal demon greedily licked the corners of its mouth, its scarlet tongue swirling over the bloodstains on its teeth.
Elsewhere, a burly bear demon, as imposing as an iron tower, was grinning maliciously as he used his large, fan-like hands to lift a strong human man high in the air like a toy.
The burly man was covered in blood, one arm hanging limply, his only remaining left hand tightly gripping a broken wooden spear with a blood-stained tip, still frantically stabbing at the bear demon's thick fur.
The wooden spear left only shallow white marks on the tough bear hide, barely even piercing it.
"Hmph! Trying to tickle Laozi?"
The bear demon sneered, a cruel pleasure flashing in its eyes, and suddenly pulled outwards with both arms—rip!
A chilling tearing sound rang out, accompanied by the burly man's agonizing screams.
Hot blood and fragments of internal organs rained down, splattering onto the bear demon's ferocious face and the reddish-brown earth beneath its feet.
The bear demon casually tossed aside the two tattered pieces of its body, like discarding two useless rags, and roared at its surroundings:
"See that? This is what happens when you resist! Clay figurines should rot in the mud!"
Human resistance was as weak as a candle flickering in the wind.
They used sharpened wooden sticks, polished stone axes, their teeth, their fingernails—everything they could think of—to fight a desperate battle against the odds.
Each feeble counterattack was accompanied by the rapid demise of life. A young woman screamed and hurled a stone shard into the eyes of the monkey demon before her.
The monkey demon cried out in pain, covered his eyes, and backed away.
Before the woman could even catch her breath, another snake demon's long, forked tongue shot out like a poisonous whip from the side, carrying a foul stench, and instantly pierced her throat. The woman's eyes froze, her body went limp, and the stone shard slipped from her powerless hand, crashing into the blood-stained mud.
Despair spread like a plague.
Faced with the raging carnage of the demon race, the flesh and blood of humans and their crude weapons were as fragile as rotten wood.
The last glimmer of light in the survivors' eyes began to fade, swallowed by deep fear and helplessness.
They began to scatter, like withered leaves torn apart by a hurricane, fleeing towards the only possible source of solace—the legendary Ancestral Land sculpted by the hands of the Holy Mother Mary, the place that gave them the origin of life.
The Ancestral Land altar, built of the most ancient megaliths and engraved with the naive yet devout prayers of the early inhabitants, has now become their last refuge.
The survivors, like frightened lambs, gathered from all directions, covered in blood, dust, and deep-seated terror.
They collapsed onto the cold, rough stone surface, as if it were the only place that could bear their endless sorrow and faint hope.
An old priest with white hair and a face etched with the marks of time and fresh blood, staggered up the altar with the help of his people.
His linen robe was already tattered and stained with large patches of dark red. His cloudy old eyes looked at the billowing dust rising from the rampaging demon race in the distance, and then at the sky above his head, which was soaked by the blood-red setting sun. His body trembled violently.
With all his might, he raised his withered, mud- and blood-stained arms high, his voice hoarse and broken, yet carrying a power that pierced the twilight, like the final lament of a wounded beast:
"Holy Mother! Earth Mother, creator of our people! Open your eyes and look upon your children!"
This heart-wrenching cry, like a stone thrown, shattered the deathly silence and despair surrounding the altar.
The densely packed crowd kneeling beneath the altar, like withered grass set ablaze, erupted in a deafening roar of cries and supplications:
"Holy Mother! Save us!"
"Mother! The demons are eating your children!"
"Holy Mother, have mercy! Show us your power!"
"Please! Please! We... we can't go on living!"
Countless foreheads, stained with mud and sweat, recklessly banged their heads against the cold, massive altar stone.
The heavy, rapid thuds of impact, intertwined with heart-wrenching cries, created a massive sonic boom powerful enough to move even the hardest rocks to tears, soaring straight into the Yunxiao.
The child, terrified in his mother's arms, forgot to cry, his large, empty eyes staring blankly ahead.
The middle-aged man slammed his clenched fist into the ground, his knuckles turning white and his fingernails digging into the dirt.
The elderly and infirm lay prostrate on the ground, their bodies convulsing violently from crying and fear.
The old priest, tears streaming down his face, suddenly bit his index finger and smeared his bright red blood on the oldest and most central totem stone of the altar.
That totem was none other than the sacred image of Nuwa, with a Human-headed Serpent Body. Blood flowed along the ancient carvings, carrying the last warmth of life.
"The Most High Holy Mother!"
The old priest's voice was broken and weak with excitement, yet it contained a desperate piety.
"We... are but mud from your fingertips, formed from your very breath! Now the demon race ravages, slaughtering our people like cutting grass... flesh and bones turned to mud, souls wailing in agony... this Blood Sea has already reached the gates of our Ancestral Land! Our people... our bloodline is about to be extinguished!"
He kowtowed again, his forehead stained with blood and tears, which dripped onto the cold stone surface.
"Holy Mother... out of compassion for your flesh and blood, moved by the mercy of creation! Have mercy! Have mercy! Descend with your divine power to drive away this evil spirit! Protect... protect the child you sculpted with your own hands!"
"Have mercy! Have mercy!"
Beneath the altar, the prayers of tens of thousands of people converged once more, like a dying tide, again and again, carrying heart-wrenching grief and the last faint, almost extinguished hope, stubbornly striking the silent sky, trying to pierce the unreachable heavens and reach the ears of the Holy Mother.
A baby's cry, startled by the immense grief, pierced the heavy prayers with a sharp edge, adding to the despair and desolation.
The roar, filled with the despair and pleas of billions of living beings, mixed with the pungent smell of blood, indeed pierced through layers of spatial barriers and reached the distant heavens, to the magnificent celestial palace suspended in the Chaos Qi — the Wa Huang Palace.
Inside the quiet room, on the cloud bed, the incomparably noble figure, who held the power of Creation, sat cross-legged, surrounded by a misty aura of Creation, expounding the ultimate truth of the birth and death of the universe.
The earth-shattering wails and blood-soaked prayers, like a surging tide, instantly shattered this tranquil space of enlightenment.
Nuwa's flawless face, which seemed to embody all the beauty and wonder of heaven and earth, showed a very subtle furrow in her brow.
It was a barely perceptible ripple, like the faintest wave on a calm lake caused by a speck of dust. Beneath her closed eyelids, her long eyelashes seemed to flutter almost imperceptibly.
However, that was all. The fervent prayers and overwhelming bloodshed that could have caused heaven and earth to weep only stirred a tiny ripple in her heart, which was as cold and clear as ancient ice.
Those tightly closed eyes never opened.
The aura of Creation surrounding her remained unchanged, vast and indifferent, like an eternal galaxy.
The heart-wrenching cries of hundreds of millions of people ultimately failed to shake the Sage's transcendent, otherworldly perspective, which looked down upon the eternal cycle of reincarnation.
The course of Heavenly Dao is predetermined; those who try to stop it will only face annihilation.
Meanwhile, far beyond the Eastern Sea, atop the Yingzhou Immortal Island, where the celestial energy was so dense it materialized into a tangible mist.
Qing Huan was leisurely leaning against a huge Innate Spiritual Root tree.
A simple bronze mirror floated in front of him, its surface as smooth as water, clearly reflecting the horrific massacre that had taken place on the Primordial Continent.
The images in the mirror flowed: the demons' mad grins, the humans' futile resistance and splattered blood, the dark mass of kneeling figures on the Ancestral Land altar, their heads bowed in despair... The human priests smeared totems with blood, and their heart-wrenching cries of "Holy Mother, have mercy!" seemed to pierce through the mirror.
Qing Huan's eyes were indifferent, as if he were watching a Primordial Wilderness shadow play that had nothing to do with him.
A strange and pure golden light lingered around his fingertips.
Though thin, these filaments of light are incredibly resilient, containing vibrant life and a mysterious force of destiny.
One end of it was deeply rooted in Qing Huan's fingertip, while the other end extended infinitely, disappearing into the endless void, faintly pointing to the human land shrouded in blood and fire.
This was the gift of Heavenly Dao he received when he assisted Nuwa Creates Humans, using the pure essence of his accompanying blue lotus to transform the clay figure— the Luck of the human race!
As long as Nuwa remains the mother of humankind, this bond will be unbreakable, and she will be able to steadily enjoy a huge 20% share of the benefits.
This is Heavenly Dao Contract, as firm as a rock.
In the mirror, a minor demon leader was wielding a serrated broadsword, cleaving open a kneeling, praying human elder along with the child in his arms.
Blood splattered on the mirror, only to be instantly wiped away by an invisible force, leaving the image clear and chilling.
Qing Huan's lips twitched almost imperceptibly upwards, forming a cold and all-knowing arc.
Whispering, the voice was so soft it seemed to be speaking to that Luck, or perhaps convincing herself. "Struggle, cry out... Your Holy Mother probably wouldn't even bother to blink at this moment."
This is the inevitable tribulation you must endure; only through bloodshed can you be reborn. Such is the way of Heavenly Dao; what can you do but cry out?
With a gentle flick of the fingertip, the Luck rippled slightly, appearing even more solid and dazzling.
In the mirror, on the altar of the Human Ancestral Land, the last cry of "Have mercy," which gathered all remaining strength, had just fallen when it was completely scattered and drowned out by a sudden gust of wind carrying a heavy smell of blood.
The fierce wind whipped up dust and withered leaves from the ground, also sweeping away that last glimmer of hope.
The sun finally sank completely below the western horizon, its last rays swallowed by the deep darkness.
Between heaven and earth, only the excited roars of the demon race, the crackling of flames, and... a suffocating, boundless, deathly silence belonging to the human race remained.
Only the golden thread of Luck at Qing Huan's fingertips shimmered with a cold and constant light in the deepening darkness of the night.