Evil Immortal Descends

The light traces from the void entrance hadn't completely dissipated; the faint golden light, condensed from the lingering aura of Cang Xuan's ascension, still brushed gently across every inch of the battlefield like a soft ribbon. The green shoots, previously nourished by the light particles, had sprouted half an inch of tender shoots, their stems tinged with a translucent light green. The dewdrops atop the shoots still reflected the lingering phantom of the light pillar—in that phantom, one could vaguely see Cang Xuan's silhouette during his ascension, his dark robes billowing in the light, as if secretly sealing three thousand years of Martial Dao legend within this crystal-clear drop of water. A gentle breeze stirred, causing the dewdrop to tremble slightly, rippling the phantom with tiny waves. As the ripples spread, they imbued the surrounding air with a gentle, Martial Dao aura. Moss in the cracks of the rubble... The moss, having absorbed enough Spiritual Qi, grew even greener and brighter, filling even the smallest cracks. A moist touch seeped through the crevices of the stone, clinging to the soles of passing cultivators' boots, leaving a trace of life. One cultivator glanced down and, touching the moss with his fingertips, felt a faint resonance of Martial Dao —the residual power of Cang Xuan, still protecting the land he had fought for. Not far away, several gray sparrows perched on newly sprouted shrubs, pecking at the tender buds, their chirping filled with tranquility. Occasionally, feathers would drift down, carried by the warm breeze, landing gently on the green buds. The tiny particles of light clinging to the feathers were the Martial Arts Origin scattered when Cang Xuan ascended, completely unaware of the impending calamity.

But at this peaceful moment, where the pillar of light had dissipated, the air in the sky suddenly twisted like a crumpled black cloth—a dark purple Rift abruptly opened, its edges churning with thick, inky mist. From the mist wafted a faint, putrid stench, a mixture of the Immortal Realm Baleful Evil Force and the Death Qi of the Mortal Realm. Sticky like years of accumulated grime, it clung to the cultivators' robes, instantly dulling their luster, making even the fabric fibers appear brittle and fragile, as if corroded by evil power. When this stench collided with the warm, ethereal energy left behind by Cang Xuan, it produced a sizzling sound, like hot oil dripping into cold water. The celestial energy dissipated into tiny fragments of light in the wind, while the Evil Mist only intensified. The thick, viscous substance even condensed around the Rift, forming agonizing, ghostly faces—the outlines of which resembled those of the creatures previously devoured by the Ink Nightmare. Some had the faces of cultivators, others the forms of birds and beasts. Their mouths were open, as if emitting silent wails, or perhaps boasting of the impending slaughter. The Rift widened, revealing Space Fragments within. The edges of these fragments glowed with dark purple lightning, each flash accompanied by a piercing crackling sound. The lightning struck the rocks below, instantly scorching them black, like a colossal beast slowly opening its fangs, ready to devour this newly revitalized land.

"Heh heh... The three-thousand-year-old stubborn old man is finally gone. This ' Mortal Realm Pearl ' should have a new owner!"

A shrill laugh escaped from the Rift, a sound unlike a human voice, more like countless rusty iron needles scraping against a rough stone slab. The piercing frequency hurt the eardrums, and even the echoes in the distant valley carried a sharp tremor, causing pebbles to fall from the cliff face. Startled, gray sparrows flapped their wings and flew away, feathers falling in the chaos. Some feathers, upon contact with the Evil Mist, instantly turned to black ash; leaving behind empty bushes swaying in the wind, branches clattering together with a soft sound, like a silent warning, or perhaps a lament for the impending disaster. Where the laughter reached, the newly warmed air froze instantly, the warm breeze above the battlefield seeming to... Frozen into tiny ice shards, they fluttered to the ground, turning into wisps of white smoke upon touching the soil, leaving only a chilling aura that made even the earthworms in the soil cower and dare not move. Newly sprouted green shoots were enveloped by the cold, their leaves instantly losing their luster and drooping listlessly. The pale green stems turned yellow at a visible speed, as if all life had been drained from them, crumbling into powder at the slightest touch. Even the previously healed rock surfaces were covered with a thin layer of black frost, the frost spreading along the cracks, like a mark of death on the rocks. Even the sunlight falling on them seemed dimmer, unable to dispel the bone-chilling cold.

The next instant, a figure stepped out of the air. He wore a dark black robe trimmed with gold, embroidered with countless twisted skull runes. The runes were sewn with dark red silk thread, gleaming eerily in the light—the red wasn't the thread's natural color, but rather a dark, solidified bloodstain. Each stitch seemed to carry the wails of the dead, and tiny beads of blood could even be seen slowly flowing at the stitches, as if each skull was roaring, trying to suck the souls of the living into them. He was barefoot, his skin a bluish-gray, covered with dark purple patterns. The patterns writhed slowly like living things, and upon closer inspection, one could see that the shapes of the patterns echoed the skull runes on the robe; with each step... With each step, a three-inch square of Black Ice Crystals condensed beneath their feet. Unlike ordinary ice, these Ice Crystals were not crystal clear; instead, they had an oily sheen and a layer of tiny bubbles on their surface. When these bubbles burst, they released an even stronger stench of decay. The Ice Crystals did not shatter upon landing; instead, they seeped into the ground like melting poison. Wherever they passed, newly sprouted green shoots were instantly scorched into charred powder. The powder drifted in the wind, and when it touched the skin of a cultivator, it caused a burning, stinging pain, and the skin instantly became red, swollen, and blistering. Even hard pebbles were corroded, leaving tiny pits and emitting black smoke. The smoke contained tiny Mars that, when they landed on the grass, ignited into small clusters of Black Flames, causing the grass to sizzle.

He was Ink Nightmare, the Evil Immortal immortal who escaped from the Immortal Realm. Years ago, he slaughtered low-ranking Immortal Official in the Immortal Realm, using their Essence Blood to refine the "Blood Soul Pill"—this Pills required the souls of ten thousand people as a catalyst. On the day it was completed, the immortal spiritual Spiritual Qi within Fang Yuan miles would be stained blood-red, and the air would be filled with the wails of the dead. Consuming it would rapidly increase one's cultivation, but would also make one's evil power increasingly violent, ultimately turning one into a monster who only knew how to kill. Hunted by the Immortal Realm's enforcers, he fled all the way to Space Rift, where he hid and survived for hundreds of years. During those hundreds of years, he relied on devouring Space Fragments... The remnant souls in the Space Fragments maintain their life force, and their pain and resentment constantly erode his sanity, making his already twisted personality even more cruel and greedy. His eyes are filled only with a thirst for power and indifference to living beings, and even the vengeful spirits in the Space Rift dare not approach him. This time, sensing the Space Passage torn open when Cang Xuan ascended, and realizing that the Tianyan Continent had lost its three-thousand-year Guardians, he followed the aftershocks of the ascension passage, like a hungry wolf smelling blood, and with a belly full of greed and cruelty, he broke into this Mortal Realm land.

Ink Nightmare hovered in mid-air, his narrow eyes sweeping across the battlefield below. His gaze, like that of a cold, venomous snake, swept over every surviving creature. When his gaze lingered on cultivators, he would carefully examine their cultivation aura, as if assessing the "purity" of their Essence Blood. When it fell upon the common people, his eyes were filled with disdain, regarding them merely as "raw materials" for refining Blood Soul Pill. When his gaze fell upon the cultivators who had just recovered from the decisive battle and were not yet fully on their feet, as well as the simple-minded common people carrying farm tools at the Foot of the Mountain, his pupils glowed with a bloodthirsty red light, the curve of his lips grew increasingly cruel, and a morbid excitement appeared on his ashen face. He raised his hand and grabbed at the air in the mountains to the east of the battlefield, his five fingers curling into a claw shape—instantly, screams rose and fell from the mountains. First came the cries of pain from the cultivators, who had just recovered some strength from their previous battle with Cang Xuan and had not even had Invisible Power to catch their breath before being attacked by an inexplicable force. The Invisible Power gripped his throat, blood gushing from his seven orifices, sliding down his cheeks, congealing into droplets on his chin, staining the fallen leaves a dark red; then came the mournful cries of birds and beasts, a hare fleeing from its burrow, its limbs kicking frantically, only to be pierced through its body by lines of blood mid-air, its body instantly stiffening, falling from the sky with a dull thud; a bird struggled in the air, flapping its wings, its feathers stained with scarlet blood, its wings flapping weakly, finally falling helplessly to the ground, its eyes still filled with terror, its claws tightly clutching a blade of grass it had just pecked. Dozens of bright red lines of blood were forcibly extracted from the creatures' bodies, like red snakes breaking free of their restraints, twisting and surging in the air, carrying a warm breath and a faint soul aura, flowing continuously from his fingertips into his palm. With each additional line of blood, the red light in Ink Nightmare's eyes grew more intense, and the Evil Mist around him thickened.

In less than the time it takes for half an incense stick to burn, a blood bead the size of a pigeon's egg condensed in his palm. The bead was entirely scarlet, with tiny blood lines pulsating on its surface. Each Dao Patterns corresponded to a lost life, and the frequency of the pulsating lines matched the final heartbeats of those departed souls, as if sealing the last moments of countless lives within this blood bead. The stench emanating from it was like an overturned slaughterhouse, instantly permeating the entire battlefield. The air, which had been nourished by Spiritual Qi and become increasingly clear, was tainted by this stench, causing dizziness upon inhalation, and even some cultivators of lower cultivation levels vomited on the spot. The vomit fell to the ground, instantly burned to ash by the Evil Qi of the blood droplets; the previously healed cracks in the rocks split open again, black mist surging from the fissures, swirling around the rubble and slowly rising into the air, transforming into ferocious ghostly claws, their tips dripping black venom. The venom, falling to the ground, corroded small pits, from which black smoke rose, within which tiny ghostly figures could be vaguely seen struggling; the ghostly claws lashed out at the creatures on the ground, tearing the air apart wherever they passed, leaving behind trails of black marks that lingered for a long time, like scars left by the contamination of space by evil power.

Ink Nightmare's gaze finally settled on Ren Xiaoyao. When he saw the golden, silver, and black light bands emanating from Ren Xiaoyao's body, a hint of contempt flashed in his eyes, and a mocking smile curled at the corner of his mouth, "Ren Xiaoyao? That old stubborn little disciple? Does he even deserve to block my path?" He seemed to remember something, and chuckled, his voice full of disdain, "Back when that old thing was in the Immortal Realm, he always loved to meddle in other people's business. He couldn't stand seeing me refine the Blood Soul Pill, and he ruined my plans several times. Now that he's dead, he's left behind a useless disciple to get in the way—you think you can protect this continent with your paltry skills? How laughable!"

Before he finished speaking, he flicked his finger, and the blood bead in his palm instantly transformed into a crimson arrow. As the arrow pierced the Sky-Rending Strike, it whistled through the air, the sound exploding like thunder across the battlefield, causing the cultivators' eardrums to ring. Many couldn't help but cover their ears, their faces turning pale. Black, Evil Mist Evil Mist swirled around the arrow, within which countless faces could be vaguely seen struggling in agony, their mouths agape as if emitting silent wails. These were the souls devoured during the refining of the blood bead, still lingering... Enduring endless pain, his soul was bound by the Evil Mist, unable to break free; wherever he passed, the pebbles on the ground were shaken and jumped up, becoming tainted by the Evil Mist in mid-air and instantly turning into black powder. The powder fell on the grass, causing the grass to wither; even space itself rippled slightly, as if the heavens and earth were about to be cleaved apart by this arrow. The arrow, carrying an aura of destruction, pierced straight for Ren Xiaoyao's heart. Even before the arrow tip approached, Ren Xiaoyao felt a bone-chilling cold, and the Creation Chaos Cauldron in his dantian trembled even more violently.

Ren Xiaoyao had been on high alert ever since Ink Nightmare appeared. The dense, Evil Fiendish Qi pressed down on his heart like a tangible weight, causing the Creation Chaos Cauldron in his dantian to tremble slightly. The "Fusion" pattern on the cauldron's body faintly glowed, as if issuing a warning. Seeing the blood arrow approaching, he flicked his wrist, and the Creation Spear on his back instantly unsheathed. The three patterns on the spear—"Life-Annihilation-Devour"—simultaneously lit up. The "Devouring" pattern opened first, revealing a pitch-black vortex, over ten feet in diameter, its interior completely black, as if connected to Endless Abyss. A powerful suction force emanated from the vortex, attempting to devour the blood arrow, even sucking in the surrounding rubble, which vanished instantly, as if completely swallowed by the abyss. The "Destroy" pattern followed closely behind, bursting forth with a silvery-white sharpness, as sharp as a knife, drawing a dazzling arc in the air. The air around the arc was cleaved with a fine crack, a faint golden light emanating from it—the power of True Meaning of Martial Arts, like the sword intent of Cang Xuan when he slew demons, fiercely slashing at the trajectory of the blood arrow. The "Life" pattern spurred countless emerald vines to grow rapidly like bamboo shoots after a spring rain, each adorned with tiny white flowers that emitted a faint fragrance, attempting to dispel the Evil Mist. The fragrance collided with the Evil Mist, producing a sizzling sound, and some of the Evil Mist was purified into harmless water vapor. The vines intertwined and wove three thick barriers in front of him, each leaf gleaming with a faint spiritual light, tiny dewdrops condensing on their edges, reflecting the spiritual Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi and earth, exuding a vibrant life force, as if using the power of life to resist this destructive Baleful Evil Force.

However, the power of the Evil Immortal far exceeded the imagination of the Mortal Realm cultivators. The blood arrow first shattered the vortex of the "Devouring" pattern, the black Evil Mist dyeing the vortex dark red. The originally pitch-black vortex instantly collapsed, turning into fine black light that dissipated into the air. The rubble that had been sucked into the vortex also fell and shattered on the ground, with black evil marks still remaining on the rubble. Then it cleaved through the sharpness of the "Extinction" pattern. The silver-white light collided with the crimson arrow body, producing a crisp "clang" sound. The sound was as piercing as metal breaking, shaking the very air. The surrounding cultivators' blood surged, and many couldn't help but spit out a mouthful of blood. The sharpness of the arrow was shattered and scattered, turning into specks of silver light that fell to the ground and extinguished upon contact with the ground, leaving not even a trace. Finally, it pierced through the vine barrier of the "Life" pattern, but the vines were burned to ash by the poison on the blood arrow. Even the tiny white flowers withered instantly, and the ash fell to the ground, still emitting black smoke. The fragrance in the air was completely covered by the stench, and it couldn't even form the slightest obstacle. The momentum of the blood arrow did not diminish at all.

A spurt of blood grazed Ren Xiaoyao's shoulder, leaving a trail of crimson blood. The wound, barely visible, instantly turned black; the black venom, as if alive, spread rapidly along his meridians—first, a piercing pain shot through his shoulder, as if countless ants were gnawing at his bone marrow, causing cold sweat to instantly bead on his forehead; then his arm, where the meridians bulged, like tiny black snakes crawling under his skin, the venom's flow visible on the surface; then his chest, where the venom spread to near his heart, Ren Xiaoyao could feel his heartbeat slowing, each beat carrying a heavy pain. Half his body instantly lost sensation, even his hand gripping the Creation Spear began to tremble slightly, the patterns on the spear shaft glowing faintly with his trembling, as if sharing his pain, or perhaps encouraging him not to give up.

"Junior, I can't take it!" When Mo Yan saw this, he raised his head and laughed wildly. The laughter shook the clouds, and the originally dark sky became more and more gloomy. Dark purple electric light flashed in the dark clouds, like the eyes of a giant beast peering in the dark. Every time the electric light flashed, it illuminated Mo Yan's ferocious face, and his blue-gray skin looked even more dark under the electric light. It felt weird. He quickly formed seals with his hands, and black runes appeared on his fingertips. The runes were spinning in the air, getting bigger and bigger, like black whirlpools. Evil mist kept pouring out of the vortex, blocking the surrounding sunlight, and the battlefield instantly fell into darkness; as the seal fell, the sky suddenly darkened, and the originally clear sky The sky was completely covered by dark clouds, and dark purple electric light flashed in the dark clouds. Every flash illuminated Mo Yan's ferocious face. The corners of his mouth opened in an exaggerated arc, revealing blue-gray teeth; countless black runes fell from the clouds, hitting the ground like rain. When the runes hit the ground, they made a "puff" sound, like It was a prelude to this blood sacrifice. Wherever each rune landed, a plume of black smoke emerged. The smoke pillars gathered in the air, forming a huge ghost face. The ghost face's eyes were two dark holes, and its mouth opened, revealing sharp fangs. It let out a silent roar at the creatures on the ground, which made people feel chilled.

Where the runes landed, the ground rumbled and cracked open, revealing deep, bottomless trenches from which dark red blood seeped. The blood, radiating scalding heat, rose as it touched the ground, creating a white mist that carried a pungent, fishy stench. Inhaling it caused dizziness and even made one's soul tremble slightly. Countless blood-soaked vengeful spirits crawled out of the blood—some were cultivators who had died in the battle against Cang Xuan, their armor still bearing broken weapons, their mutilated faces contorted in pain, yet their eyes gleaming with a controlled madness. They still gripped their rusty weapons tightly, wielding them towards the living beings; some were civilians corrupted by evil power, their clothes tattered, their bodies twisted, some missing arms, some without legs, crawling on the ground, their eyes vacant, emitting shrill screams, the sound as piercing as fingernails scratching wood, sending chills down one's spine; they extended their withered claws, blood, flesh, and dirt still clinging to their nails, and pounced on the cultivators and civilians around the battlefield, leaving trails of blood on the ground where they passed, the bloodstains emanating a black, Evil Qi that lingered for a long time.

At the Foot of the Mountain, a child of about five or six years old carried a bamboo basket filled with wild berries he had just picked from the mountains. Some were fiery red, others golden yellow, and a few shimmered with a purplish sheen. He had run halfway up the mountain that morning to find them, intending to bring them home for his sick grandmother. He had just picked up a ripe, red berry, brought it to his nose, and smelled its sweet fragrance, a sweet smile spreading across his face. A trace of berry juice still clung to his lips. Before he could even put it in his mouth, a vengeful spirit's claws slashed his arm. Blood instantly stained his light blue sleeve, dripping down the cuff and onto the wild berries on the ground, darkening their red color even further. The child wailed in terror, his cries heart-wrenching. The wild fruit in his hand fell to the ground, rolling into the mud and becoming covered in a layer of black ash, losing its original brightness. Seeing this, his mother rushed over frantically, shielding the child in her arms and using her body to block the attack of the vengeful spirit. However, another vengeful spirit grabbed her shoulder, its sharp nails digging deep into her flesh. Blood flowed down her back, soaking her coarse cloth clothes. The mother's screams mingled with the child's cries, causing the surrounding cultivators to feel their hearts ache. However, entangled by other vengeful spirits, they could not step forward to help and could only watch this scene with anger and helplessness in their eyes.

Not far away, a gray-haired old farmer was leading an ox forward. The ox was still tied to a plow, and the plow tip was stained with fresh soil. He was preparing to plow in the fields, thinking that this year's harvest would be better, buying more candies for his grandchildren, and adding a new dress. There were blood and cracks. Open, the old farmer's face suddenly changed, and his cloudy eyes were full of panic. He wanted to pull the cattle back, but it was too late - the bloody ditch suddenly expanded, and a strong suction pulled him into the ditch. The old farmer's feet left the ground, and his body struggled in the air. He stretched out his hand, as if he wanted to catch the cattle. The reins, but only caught a handful of air, and in the end there was only a shrill cry, "Grandson, grandpa, I'm sorry for you!" Then there was no sound at all. Only his straw hat fell from the air and landed on the edge of the blood ditch, soaked with blood. There was also a small "" embroidered on the straw hat. That was Sun. His son embroidered it for him last year. The cattle were frightened, let out a low low, broke free from the reins, and ran towards the mountains and forests. Their hooves trampled on the ground, leaving deep hoofprints with some blood stains. They disappeared deep into the mountains and forests, leaving only the empty field ridges and the wet soil on the plow tips.

Ren Xiaoyao stared at the horrific scene before him, his chest feeling as if a boulder were pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. A metallic taste rose in his throat, and he forced himself to hold back from spitting out blood. He wanted to save the child and the old farmer, but half of his body was numb, making even moving a single step incredibly difficult. He could only watch helplessly as the tragedy unfolded, his eyes filled with pain and anger. His fingernails dug deeply into his palms, drawing blood, yet he remained oblivious. The Creation Chaos Cauldron in his dantian trembled violently, the "Fusion" pattern on its surface emitting rapid, flickering light, as if urging him to make a decision, or perhaps worried about his predicament. He knew better than anyone that with his current strength... The sheer quantity is utterly insufficient to contend with Ink Nightmare's power— Ink Nightmare's evil energy has permeated the world, the blood trough continues to expand, and the number of vengeful spirits is increasing. If it is not stopped quickly, the entire Tianyan Continent will become a sacrifice for him to refine the "Blood Soul Pill," resulting in widespread devastation and the No Life. The only way to stop this blood sacrifice is to use the Origin Power of the "Fusion" pattern—but this power requires one's own Essence Blood as a catalyst. Once used, the meridians will suffer irreversible damage, the Chaos Energy in the dantian will be greatly depleted, and one may even lose the opportunity to advance forever, becoming a cultivator whose cultivation has stagnated, unable to protect this land any longer.

"Our predecessors have protected this land for three thousand years; I will never allow it to become a place of blood sacrifice!" Ren Xiaoyao gritted his teeth, a resolute glint in his eyes. A trace of color returned to his face, which had been pale from the pain—the color of determination and the belief in his protection. He raised his hand and bit his fingertip, letting the bright Essence Blood drip down like a ruby. Each drop contained his vitality and the True Meaning of Martial Arts, landing on the "Fusion" pattern on the Creation Chaos Cauldron, producing a "sizzling" sound. The moment the Essence Blood touched the cauldron, golden sparks flew.