Wutu Qi gathered from the eight desolations, condensing in an instant into a thousand-zhang earth dragon. Its scales were thick and solid, its claws and fangs ferocious. Hou Yi stood upon its head, his lips opening and closing as Witch Script burst forth as though chiseled by knives and axes. Witch Power roiled around him, talismans rising from his flesh and blood to suspend in midair. Faint sanskrit chant emerged, ancient characters flowed and turned, and an ancient, vast aura spread from the depths of the hall.
The Witch Script drifted down and sank entirely into a square platform of yellow clay. The earth veins of North Continent of Julu seemed to be gripped by an invisible hand; mountains and rivers trembled slightly, while earth qi poured backward like rivers, gurgling into the clay platform.
"Heaven and earth turn, Netherworld Underworld, open!"
Hou Yi's clear howl tore through the air. His Witch Power suddenly surged wildly, condensing an ancient blade in the void. The blade had no edge, yet it pressed space until it hummed; its mottled patterns seemed to have recorded every tale of the world's creation. Its desolate antiquity resonated from afar with the towering statue of Pangu within the hall.
"Rip—"
The sharp blade tore through the air, and the void split in response like brocade being ripped apart, opening a long, bottomless dark rift that led straight to the Nether Abyss.
As the witches poured the strength of their entire lives into the ritual platform, the rift slowly unfurled, and a world gradually took shape. A Blood Sea churned, turbid waves battered the shores, and ghostly howls rang out mournfully. An isolated peak pierced the nether mist, pavilions layered upon its summit. At its highest point stood Houtu Palace in solemn majesty, light hanging from its