What did it mean for the style to be all wrong?
It was probably like the Yellow Emperor riding a dragon to ascend as an immortal, only to arrive and find not the immortal Queen Mother of the West before him, but Hastur, The King in Yellow; or like Kil'jaeden finally passing through a dimensional gate, looking up, and discovering that the landmark before him was not the Great Maelstrom, but the Southern Heavenly Gate... In short, it gave one a gut-twisting feeling.
For Earth, Shenzhou, this xianxia world that upheld the spirit of science, was already ten parts out of ten stylistically deranged. Wang Qi had thought himself beyond losing his sanity over such matters.
But Wang Qi had to admit that he had been wrong.
"I was stupid, truly." Wang Qi raised his listless eyes and said, "I knew that the Heavenly Dao of this world was a madman, but I never knew his imagination could be this wild... What is this thing? Cthugha? A Balor flame demon?"
At the center of the blood pool stood an extremely impressionistic sculpture. Four twisted horns surrounded its head, and the head thrown back in a howl seemed to possess only a mouth—or perhaps no face at all. The statue's body was grotesquely warped, asymmetrical everywhere. Its right arm was still a massive claw, but its left arm had become three tentacles. Countless flame patterns covered the monster's body, clearly marking it as fire-aspected.
Was this Cthugha? A Balor flame demon? Or a DND-style Cthugha? A Cthulhu-style Balor flame demon?
In any case, it did not look like xianxia style. Whether rakshasas and yakshas or ghosts and goblins, none of them had this sort of style...
Just as Wang Qi found himself powerless to mock the lunatic Heavenly Dao, Zhen Chanzi