After the brief dizziness of leaping through the Void passed, the scene before them had changed completely.
Fang Chen stepped out of a faint spatial ripple, put away the Swallowing Heaven Tower, and surveyed his surroundings with a grave expression.
So this was the Heavenly Ruins?
What lay before him was not the broken walls and ruined palaces he had imagined. At least, not at first glance.
It was a boundless, deathly still Void.
But unlike the stillness of the Chaotic Starry Sky, this was an emptiness that suffocated the soul.
There was no starlight—or rather, some invisible force twisted it here, leaving only the deepest ink-black backdrop.
Now and then, he could make out a few exceedingly dim specks of light, like the last embers of dying stars. Far from bringing light, they made the surroundings even more sinister.
There was no sound. Absolute silence.
Even the background hum of space itself seemed to have vanished. All he could hear was the roar of his own rushing blood and beating heart, magnifying the unease within him.
Most striking of all was the boundless Fog Wall slowly turning ahead.
It was no ordinary fog, but a strange barrier formed from countless tiny Law Fragments, spatial dust, and Time Turbulence.
It was a murky gray-white, like mud stirred up after settling for hundreds of millions of years, then magnified a hundred millionfold.
The Gray Mist slowly churned and writhed. Strange flashes of color appeared within it from time to time—perhaps shattered Immortal Dao Runes, perhaps the instant a Law was extinguished. Most of it was darkness without a bottom.
An indescribable pressure spread from the wall of Gray Mist.
It was not the pressure of a living being, but the aura of chaos and finality itself, silently proclaiming its danger.
Those